THE BANQUET.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OP PLATO.
THE BANQUET OF
PLATO +? TRANS-
LATED BY PERCY
BYSSHE SHELLEY
CHICAGO WAY AND
WILLIAMS 4? 1895
DECORATIONS BY MR. BRUCE ROGERS
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
["I am employed just now, having little
better to do, in translating into my faint and
inefficient periods, the divine eloquence of
Plato's Symposium ; only as an exercise, or,
perhaps, to give Mary some idea of the man-
ners and feelings of the Athenians — so differ-
ent on many subjects from that of any other
community that ever existed."
From a letter v/ritten by Shelley to Mr. and Mrs.
Gisborne, dated "Bagni di Lucca, July loth, 1818.
" I have lately found myself totally incap-
able of original composition. I employed my
mornings, therefore, in translating the Sym-
posium, which I accomplished in ten days.
Mary is now transcribing it, and I am writing
a prefatory essay."
'Written to Peacock ("Eraser's Magazine,"
March, 1860, page 302.)]
ON THE SYMPOSIUM,
OR PREFACE TO THE BANQUET OF PLATO,
A FRAGMENT.
H E dialogue
entitled "The
Banquet,"
was selected
by the trans-
lator as the
most beauti-
ful and per-
fect among
all the works
of Plato.* He
despairs of having communicated to
the English language any portion of
the surpassing graces of the compo-
sition, or having done more than pre-
sent an imperfect shadow of the lan-
* The Republic, though replete with considerable
errors of speculation, is, indeed, the greatest repository
of important truths of all the works of Plato. This,
perhaps, is because it is the longest. He first, and per-
haps last, maintained that a state ought to be governed,
not by the wealthiest, or the most ambitious, or the
most cunning, but by the wisest ; the method of select-
ing such rulers, and the laws by which such a selection
is made, must correspond with and arise out of the
moral freedom and refinement of the people.
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
guage and the sentiment of this as-
tonishing production.
Plato is eminently the greatest
among the Greek philosophers, and
from, or, rather, perhaps through him,
from his master Socrates, have pro-
ceeded those emanations of moral
and metaphysical knowledge, on
which a long series and an incalcula-
ble variety of popular superstitions
have sheltered their absurdities from
the slow contempt of mankind. Plato
exhibits the rare union of close and
subtle logic, with the Pythian enthu-
siasm of poetry, melted by the splen-
dour and harmony of his periods into
one irresistible stream of musical im-
pressions, which hurry the persua-
sions onward, as in a breathless
career. His language is that of an
immortal spirit, rather than a man.
Lord Bacon is, perhaps, the only
writer, who, in these particulars, can
be compared with him : his imitator,
Cicero, sinks in the comparison into
an ape mocking the gestures of a
man. His views into the nature of
mind and existence are often obscure,
only because they are profound ; and
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
though his theories respecting the
government of the world, and the ele-
mentary laws of moral action, are not
always correct, yet there is scarcely
any of his treatises which do not,
however stained by puerile sophisms,
contain the most remarkable intui-
tions into all that can be the subject
of the human mind. His excellence
consists especially in intuition, and
it is this faculty which raises him far
above Aristotle, whose genius, though
vivid and various, is obscure in com-
parison with that of Plato.
The dialogue entitled the "Ban-
quet," is called Epcortxo^, or a Discus-
sion upon Love, and is supposed to
have taken place at the house of
Agathon, at one of a series of festi-
vals given by that poet, on the occa-
sion of his gaining the prize of trag-
edy at the Dionysiaca. The account
of the debate on this occasion is sup-
posed to have been given by Apollo-
dorus, a pupil of Socrates, many
years after it had taken place, to a
companion who was curious to hear
it. This Apollodorus appears, both
from the style in which he is repre-
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
sented in this piece, as well as from
a passage in the Phaedon, to have
been a person of an impassioned and
enthusiastic disposition; to borrow
an image from the Italian painters,
he seems to have been the St. John
of the Socratic group. The drama
(for so the lively distinction of char-
acter and the various and well-
wrought circumstances of the story
almost entitle it to be called) begins
by Socrates persuading Aristodemus
to sup at Agathon's, uninvited. The
whole of this introduction affords the
most lively conception of refined
Athenian manners.
THE BANQUET.
THE PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.
APOLLODORUS.
A FRIEND OF APOLLODORUS.
GLAUCO.
ARISTODEMUS.
SOCRATES.
AGATHON.
PH-ffiDRUS.
PAUSANIAS.
ERYXIMACHUS.
ARISTOPHANES.
DIOTIMA.
ALCIBIADES.
THE BANQUET.
TRANSLATED FROM PLATO.
APOLLODORUS.
THINK that
the subject of
your inquiries
is still fresh in
my memory;
for yesterday,
as I chanced
to be return-
ing home from
Phaleros, one
of my acquain-
tance, seeing me before him, called
out to me from a distance, jokingly,
" Apollodorus, you Phalerian, will
you not wait a minute?" — I waited
for him, and as soon as he over-
took me, "I have just been looking
for you, Apollodorus," he said, "for
I wished to hear what those discus-
sions were on Love, which took
place at the party, when Agathon,
Socrates, Alcibiades, and some oth-
ers met at supper. Some one who
13
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
heard it from Phoenix, the son of
Philip, told me that you could give
a full account, but he could relate
nothing distinctly himself. Relate to
me, then, I entreat you, all the cir-
cumstances. I know you are a faith-
ful reporter of the discussions of your
friends; but, first tell me, were you
present at the party or not ?"
"Your informant," I replied,
" seems to have given you no very
clear idea of what you wish to
hear, if he thinks that these dis-
cussions took place so lately as
that I could have been of the
party."— "Indeed, I thought so," re-
plied he.— "For how," said I, "O
Glauco ! could I have been present?
Do you not know that Agathon has
been absent from the city many
years? But, since I began to con-
verse with Socrates, and to observe
each day all his words and actions,
three years are scarcely past. Be-
fore this time I wandered about
wherever it might chance, thinking
that I did something, but being, in
truth, a most miserable wretch, not
less than you are now, who believe
14
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
that you ought to do anything rather
than practise the love of wisdom."—
"Do not cavil," interrupted Glauco,
"but tell me, when did this party
take place ? "
"Whilst we were yet children," I
replied, " when Agathon first gained
the prize of tragedy, and the day
after that on which he and the
chorus made sacrifices in celebra-
tion of their success." — "A long time
ago, it seems. But who told you all
the circumstances of the discussion?
Did you hear them from Socrates
himself?"— "No, by Jupiter! But
the same person from whom Phoenix
had his information, one Aristode-
mus, a Cydathenean, — a little man
who always went about without san-
dals. He was present at this feast,
being, I believe, more than any of
his contemporaries, a lover and
admirer of Socrates. I have ques-
tioned Socrates concerning some
of the circumstances of his narra-
tion, who confirms all that I have
heard from Aristodemus." — "Why,
then," said Glauco, " why not relate
them, as we walk, to me? The road
15
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
to the city is every way convenient,
both for those who listen and those
who speak."
Thus as we walked I gave him
some account of those discussions
concerning Love; since, as I said
before, I remember them with suffi-
cient accuracy. If I am required to
relate them also to you, that shall
willingly be done; for, whensoever
either I myself talk of philosophy,
or listen to others talking of it, in
addition to the improvement which I
conceive there arises from such con-
versation, I am delighted beyond
measure ; but whenever I hear your
discussions about monied men and
great proprietors, I am weighed
down with grief, and pity you, who,
doing nothing, believe that you are
doing something. Perhaps you think
that I am a miserable wretch ; and,
indeed, I believe that you think truly.
I do not think, but well know, that
you are miserable.
COMPANION.
You are always the same, Apollo-
dorus — always saying some ill of
16
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
yourself and others. Indeed, you
seem to me to think every one mis-
erable except Socrates, beginning
with yourself. I do not know what
could have entitled you to the sur-
name of the "Madman," for I am
sure, you are consistent enough, for
ever inveighing with bitterness
against yourself and all others, ex-
cept Socrates.
APOLLODORUS.
My dear friend, it is manifest that
I am out of my wits from this alone—
that I have such opinions as you de-
scribe concerning myself and you.
COMPANION.
It is not worth while, Apollodorus,
to dispute now about these things ;
but do what I entreat you, and relate
to us what were these discussions.
APOLLODORUS
They were such as I will proceed
to tell you. But let me attempt to
relate them in the order which Aris-
todemus observed in relating them
to me. He said that he met Soc-
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
rates washed, and, contrary to his
usual custom, sandalled, and having
inquired whither he went so gaily
dressed, Socrates replied, "I am go-
ing to sup at Agathpn's ; yesterday
I avoided it, disliking the crowd,
which would attend at the prize sac-
rifices then celebrated ; today I prom-
ised to be there, and I made myself
so gay, because one ought to be
beautiful to approach one who is
beautiful. But you, Aristodemus,
what think you of coming uninvited
to supper?" — "I will do," he replied,
"as you command." — "Follow, then,
that we may, by changing its appli-
cation, disarm that proverb which
says, 'To the feasts of the good, the
good come uninvited.' Homer, in-
deed, seems not only to destroy, but
to outrage the proverb ; for, describ-
ing Agamemnon as excellent in bat-
tle, and Menelaus but a faint-hearted
warrior, he represents Menelaus as
coming uninvited to the feast of one
better and braver than himself." —
Aristodemus hearing this, said, "I
also am in some danger, Socrates,
not as you say, but according to Ho-
18
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
mer, of approaching like an unworthy
inferior, the banquet of one more wise
and excellent than myself. Will you
not, then, make some excuse for me ?
for, I shall not confess that I came
uninvited, but shall say that I was
invited by you." — "As we walk to-
gether," said Socrates, "we will con-
sider together what excuse to make
— but let us go."
Thus discoursing, they proceeded.
But, as they walked, Socrates, en-
gaged in some deep contemplation,
slackened his pace, and, observing
Aristodemus waiting for him, he de-
sired him to go on before. When
Aristodemus arrived at Agathon's
house he found the door open, and it
occurred somewhat comically, that a
slave met him at the vestibule, and
conducted him where he found the
guests already reclined. As soon as
Agathon saw him, "You arrive just
in time to sup with us, Aristodemus,"
he said ; "if you have any other pur-
pose in your visit, defer it to a better
opportunity. I was looking for you
yesterday, to invite you to be of our
party ; I could not find you anywhere.
19
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
But how is it that you do not bring
Socrates with you?"
But he turning round, and not see-
ing Socrates behind him, said to
Agathon, "I just came hither in his
company, being invited by him to sup
with you." — "You did well," replied
Agathon, "to come; but where is
Socrates?" — "He just now came
hither behind me ; I myself wonder
where he can be." — "Go and look,
boy," said Agathon, " and bring Soc-
rates in; meanwhile, you, Aristode-
mus, recline there near Eryxima-
chus." And he bade a slave wash
his feet that he might recline. An-
other slave, meanwhile, brought word
that Socrates had retired into a
neighbouring vestibule, where he
stood, and, in spite of his message,
refused to come in. — " What absurd-
ity you talk," cried Agathon, "call
him, and do not leave him till he
comes." — "Leave him alone, by all
means," said Aristodemus, "it is cus-
tomary with him sometimes to retire
in this way and stand wherever it
may chance. He will come presently,
I do not doubt ; do not disturb him."
20
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
— "Well, be it as you will," said Aga-
thon; "as it is, you boys, bring sup-
per for the rest ; put before us what
you will, for I resolved that there
should be no master of the feast.
Consider me, and these, my friends,
as guests, whom you have invited to
supper, and serve them so that we
may commend you.1*
After this they began supper, but
Socrates did not come in. Agathon
ordered him to be called, but Aristo-
demus perpetually forbade it. At
last he came in, much about the mid-
dle of supper, not having delayed so
long as was his custom. Agathon
(who happened to be reclining at the
end of the table, and alone,) said, as
he entered, "Come hither, Socrates,
and sit down by me ; so that by the
mere touch of one so wise as you are,
I may enjoy the fruit of your medita-
tions in the vestibule; for, I well
know, you would not have departed
till you had discovered and secured
it."
Socrates having sate down as he
was desired, replied, "It would be
well, Agathon, if wisdom were of such
21
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
a nature, that when we touched each
other, it would overflow of its own
accord, from him who possesses much
to him who possesses little ; like the
water in two chalices, which will flow
through a flock of wool from the ful-
ler into the emptier, until both are
equal. If wisdom had this property,
I should esteem myself most fortu-
nate in reclining near to you. I
should thus soon be filled, I think,
with the most beautiful and various
wisdom. Mine, indeed, is something
obscure, and doubtful, and dreamlike.
But yours is radiant, and has been
crowned with amplest reward; for,
though you are yet so young, it shone
forth from you, and became so mani-
fest yesterday, that more than thirty
thousand Greeks can bear testimony
to its excellence and loveliness." —
"You are laughing at me, Socrates,"
said Agathon, "but you and I will de-
cide this controversy about wisdom
by and by, taking Bacchus for our
judge. At present turn to your sup-
per."
After Socrates and the rest had
finished supper, and had reclined
22
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
back on their couches, and the liba-
tions had been poured forth, and
they had sung hymns to the god, and
all other rites which are customary,
had been performed, they turned to
drinking. Then Pausanias made
this kind of proposal. "Come, my
friends," said he, "in what manner
will it be pleasantest for us to drink ?
I must confess to you that, in reality,
I am not very well from the wine we
drank last night, and I have need of
some intermission. I suspect that
most of you are in the same condi-
tion, for you were here yesterday.
Now, consider how we shall drink
most easily and comfortably."
"'Tis a good proposal, Pausanias,"
said Aristophanes, "to contrive, in
some way or other, to place modera-
tion in our cups. I was one of those
who were drenched last night."—
Eryximachus, the son of Acumenius,
hearing this, said: "I am of your
opinion; I only wish to know one
thing — whether Agathon is in the
humour for hard drinking?" — "Not
at all," replied Agathon ; "I confess
that I am not able to drink much this
23
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
evening." — "It is an excellent thing
for us," replied Eryximachus, "I
mean myself, Aristodemus, Phaedrus,
and these others, if you who are such
invincible drinkers, now refuse to
drink. I ought to except Socrates,
for he is capable of drinking every-
thing, or nothing ; and whatever we
shall determine will equally suit him.
Since, then, no one present has any
desire to drink much wine, I shall
perhaps give less offence, if I declare
the nature of drunkenness. The sci-
ence of medicine teaches us that
drunkenness is very pernicious : nor
would I choose to drink immoder-
ately myself, or counsel another to do
so, especially if he had been drunk
the night before." — " Yes," said
Phaedrus, the Myrinusian, interrupt-
ing him, "I have been accustomed to
confide in you, especially in your di-
rections concerning medicine ; and I
would now willingly do so, if the rest
will do the same." All then agreed
that they would drink at this present
banquet not for drunkenness, but for
pleasure.
"Since, then," said Eryximachus,
24
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
"it is decided that no one shall be
compelled to drink more than he
pleases, I think that we may as well
send away the flute-player to play to
herself ; or, if she likes, to the women
within. Let us devote the present
occasion to conversation between
ourselves, and if you wish, I will pro-
pose to you what shall be the subject
of our discussion." All present de-
sired and entreated that he would
explain. — " The exordium of my
speech," said Eryximachus, "will be
in the style of the Menalippe of Eurip-
ides, for the story which I am about
to tell belongs not to me, but to
Phaedrus. Phaedrus has often indig-
nantly complained to me, saying —
'Is it not strange, Eryximachus, that
there are innumerable hymns and
paeans composed for the other gods,
but that not one of the many poets
who spring up in the world has ever
composed a verse in honour of Love,
who is such and so great a god ? Nor
any one of those accomplished soph-
ists, who, like the famous Prodicus,
have celebrated the praise of Hercu-
les and others, have ever celebrated
25
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
that of Love ; but what is more aston-
ishing, I have lately met with the book
of some philosopher, in which salt is
extolled on account of its utility, and
many other things of the same nature
are in like manner celebrated with
elaborate praise. That so much se-
rious thought is expended on such
trifles, and that no man has dared to
this day to frame a hymn in honour
of Love, who being so great a deity,
is thus neglected, may well be suffi-
cient to excite my indignation.'
"There seemed to me some jus-
tice in these complaints of Phaedrus ;
I propose, therefore, at the same time
for the sake of giving pleasure to
Phaedrus, and that we may on the
present occasion do something well
and befitting us, that this god should
receive from those who are now pres-
ent the honour which is most due to
him. If you agree to my proposal,
an excellent discussion might arise
on the subject. Every one ought, ac-
cording to my plan, to praise Love
with as much eloquence as he can.
Let Phaedrus begin first, both be-
cause he reclines the first in order,
26
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
and because he is the father of the
discussion."
"No one will vote against you,
Eryximachus," said Socrates, "for
how can I oppose your proposal, who
am ready to confess tha"- I know
nothing on any subject but love ? Or
how can Agathon, or Pausanias, or
even Aristophanes, whose life is one
perpetual ministration to Venus and
Bacchus? Or how can any other
whom I see here ? Though we who
sit last are scarcely on an equality
with you ; for if those who speak be-
fore us shall have exhausted the sub-
ject with their eloquence and reason-
ings, our discourses will be superflu-
ous. But in the name of Good For-
tune, let Phaedrus begin and praise
Love." The whole party agreed to
what Socrates said, and entreated
Phaedrus to begin.
What each then said on this sub-
ject, Aristodemus did not entirely
recollect, nor do I recollect all that he
related to me ; but only the speeches
of those who said what was most
worthy of remembrance. First, then,
Phaedrus began thus : —
27
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
"Love is a mighty deity, and the
object of admiration, both to gods
and men, for many and for various
claims ; but especially on account of
his origin. For that he is to be hon-
oured as one of the most ancient of
the gods, this may serve as a testi-
mony, that Love has no parents, nor
is there any poet or other person who
has ever affirmed that there are such.
Hesiod says, that first 'Chaos was
produced; then the broad-bosomed
Earth, to be a secure foundation for
all things ; then Love.' He says, that
after Chaos these two were produced,
the Earth and Love. Parmenides,
speaking of generation, says: — 'But
he created Love before any of the
gods.' Acusileus agrees with Hesiod.
Love, therefore, is universally ac-
knowledged to be among the oldest
of things. And in addition to this,
Love is the author of our greatest
advantages ; for I cannot imagine a
greater happiness and advantage to
one who is in the flower of youth than
an amiable lover, or to a lover, than
an amiable object of his love. For
neither birth, nor wealth, nor honours,
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
can awaken in the minds of men the
principles which should guide those
who from their youth aspire to an
honourable and excellent life, as Love
awakens them. I speak of the fear
of shame, which deters them from
that which is disgraceful; and the
love of glory, which incites to honour-
able deeds. For it is not possible
that a state or private person should
accomplish, without these incite-
ments, anything beautiful or great.
I assert, then, that should one who
loves be discovered in any dishon-
ourable action, or tamely enduring
insult through cowardice, he would
feel more anguish and shame if ob-
served by the object of his passion,
than if he were observed by his father,
or his companions, or any other per-
son. In like manner, among warmly
attached friends, a man is especially
grieved to be discovered by his friend
in any dishonourable act. If then, by
any contrivance, a state or army
could be composed of friends bound
by strong attachment, it is beyond
calculation how excellently they
would administer their affairs, re-
29
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
framing from anything base, contend-
ing with each other for the acquire-
ment of fame, and exhibiting such
valour in battle as that, though few
in numbers, they might subdue all
mankind. For should one friend de-
sert the ranks or cast away his arms
in the presence of the other, he would
suffer far acuter shame from that one
person's regard, than from the regard
of all other men. A thousand times
would he prefer to die, rather than
desert the object of his attachment,
and not succour him in danger.
"There is none so worthless whom
Love cannot impel, as it were by a
divine inspiration, towards virtue,
even so that he may through this in-
spiration become equal to one who
might naturally be more excellent;
and, in truth, as Homer says : The
God breathes vigour into certain he-
roes— so Love breathes into those
who love, the spirit which is produced
from himself. Not only men, but even
women who love, are those alone who
willingly expose themselves to die for
others. Alcestis, the daughter of
Pelias, affords to the Greeks a re-
30
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
markable example of this opinion;
she alone being willing to die for her
husband, and so surpassing his par-
ents in the affection with which love
inspired her towards him, as to make
them appear, in the comparison with
her, strangers to their own child, and
related to him merely in name ; and
so lovely and admirable did this ac-
tion appear, not only to men, but even
to the Gods, that, although they con-
ceded the prerogative of bringing
back the spirit from death to few
among the many who then performed
excellent and honourable deeds, yet,
delighted with this action, they re-
deemed her soul from the infernal
regions : so highly do the Gods hon-
our zeal and devotion in love. They
sent back indeed Orpheus, the son of
CEagrus, from Hell, with his purpose
unfulfilled, and, showing him only the
spectre of her for whom he came, re-
fused to render up herself. For Or-
pheus seemed to them, not as Alces-
tis, to have dared die for the sake of
her whom he loved, and thus to se-
cure to himself a perpetual inter-
course with her in the regions to
31
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
which she had preceded him, but like
a cowardly musician, to have con-
trived to descend alive into Hell ; and,
indeed, they appointed as a punish-
ment for his cowardice, that he should
be put to death by women.
"Far otherwise did they reward
Achilles, the son of Thetis, whom
they sent to inhabit the islands of the
blessed. For Achilles, though in-
formed by his mother that his own
death would ensue upon his killing
Hector, but that if he refrained from
it he might return home and die in old
age, yet preferred revenging and hon-
ouring his beloved Patroclus ; not to
die for him merely, but to disdain and
reject that life which he had ceased
to share. Therefore the Greeks hon-
oured Achilles beyond all other men,
because he thus preferred his friend
to all things else.
"On this account have the Gods
rewarded Achilles more amply than
Alcestis ; permitting his spirit to in-
habit the island of the blessed. Hence
do I assert that Love is the most an-
cient and venerable of deities, and
most powerful to endow mortals with
32
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
the possession of happiness and vir-
tue, both whilst they live and after
they die."
Thus Aristodemus reported the
discourse of Phaedrus; and after
Phaedrus, he said that some others
spoke, whose discourses he did not
well remember. When they had
ceased, Pausanias began thus : —
"Simply to praise Love, O Phae-
drus, seems to me too bounded a
scope for our discourse. If Love
were one, it would be well. But since
Love is not one, I will endeavour to
distinguish which is the Love whom
it becomes us to praise, and having
thus discriminated one from the
other, will attempt to render him who
is the subject of our discourse the
honour due to his divinity. We all
know that Venus is never without
Love ; and if Venus were one, Love
would be one ; but since there are two
Venuses, of necessity also must there
be two Loves. For assuredly are
there two Venuses; one, the eldest,
the daughter of Uranus, born without
a mother, whom we call the Uranian ;
the other younger, the daughter of
33
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Jupiter and Dione, whom we call the
Pandemian ; — of necessity must there
also be two Loves, the Uranian and
Pandemian companions of these
goddesses. It is becoming to praise
all the Gods, but the attributes which
fall to the lot of each may be distin-
guished and selected. For any par-
ticular action whatever, in itself is
neither good nor evil ; what we are
now doing — drinking, singing, talk-
ing, none of these things are good in
themselves, but the mode in which
they are done stamps them with its
own nature ; and that which is done
well, is good, and that which is done
ill, is evil. Thus, not all love, nor
every mode of love is beautiful, or
worthy of commendation, but that
alone which excites us to love worth-
ily. The Love, therefore, which at-
tends upon Venus Pandemos is, in
truth, common to the vulgar, and
presides over transient and fortuitous
connexions, and is worshipped by the
least excellent of mankind. The vo-
taries of this deity seek the body
rather than the soul, and the ignorant
rather than the wise, disdaining all
34
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that is honourable and lovely, and
considering how they shall best sat-
isfy their sensual necessities. This
Love is derived from the younger god-
dess, who partakes in her nature
both of male and female. But the at-
tendant on the other, the Uranian,
whose nature is entirely masculine, is
the Love who inspires us with affec-
tion, and exempts us from all wan-
tonness and libertinism. Those who
are inspired by this divinity seek the
affections of those who are endowed
by nature with greater excellence
and vigour both of body and mind.
And it is easy to distinguish those
who especially exist under the influ-
ence of this power, by their choosing
in early youth as the objects of their
love those in whom the intellectual
faculties have begun to develop. For
those who begin to love in this man-
ner seem to me to be preparing to
pass their whole life together in a
community of good and evil, and not
ever lightly deceiving those who love
them, to be faithless to their vows.
There ought to be a law that none
should love the very young ; so much
35
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serious affection as this deity enkin-
dles should not be doubtfully be-
stowed; for the body and mind of
those so young are yet unformed, and
it is difficult to foretell what will be
their future tendencies and power.
The good voluntarily impose this law
upon themselves, and those vulgar
lovers ought to be compelled to the
same observance, as we deter them
with all the power of the laws from
the love of free matrons. For these
are the persons whose shameful ac-
tions embolden those who observe
their importunity and intemperance
to assert, that it is dishonourable to
serve and gratify the objects of our
love. But no one who does this
gracefully and according to law, can
justly be liable to the imputation of
blame.
"Not only friendship, but philoso-
phy and the practice of the gymnastic
exercises, are represented as dishon-
ourable by the tyrannical govern-
ments under which the barbarians
live. For I imagine it would little
conduce to the benefit of the gover-
nors, that the governed should be
36
THE BANQUET OF PLATO.
disciplined to lofty thoughts and to
the unity and communion of stead-
fast friendship, of which admirable
effects the tyrants of our own country
have also learned that Love is the
author. For the love of Harmodius
and Aristogeiton, strengthened into a
firm friendship, dissolved the tyranny.
Wherever, therefore, it is declared
dishonourable in any case to serve
and benefit friends, that law is a
mark of the depravity of the legisla-
tor, the avarice and tyranny of the
rulers, and the cowardice of those
who are ruled. Wherever it is sim-
ply declared to be honourable with-
out distinction of cases, such a de-
claration denotes dullness and want
of subtlety of mind in the authors of
the regulation. Here the degrees of
praise or blame to be attributed by
law are far better regulated ; but it is
yet difficult to determine the cases to
which they should refer.
"It is evident, however, for one in
whom passion is enkindled, it is more
honourable to love openly than se-
cretly ; and most honourable to love
the most excellent and virtuous, even
37
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if they should be less beautiful than
others. It is honourable for the lover
to exhort and sustain the object of his
love in virtuous conduct. It is con-
sidered honourable to attain the love
of those whom we seek, and the con-
trary shameful ; and to facilitate this
attainment, opinion has given to the
lover the permission of acquiring fa-
vour by the most extraordinary de-
vices, which if a person should prac-
tice for any purpose besides this, he
would incur the severest reproof of
philosophy. For if any one desirous
of accumulating money, or ambitious
of procuring power, or seeking any
other advantage, should, like a lover
seeking to acquire the favour of his
beloved, employ prayers and entrea-
ties in his necessity, and swear such
oaths as lovers swear, and sleep be-
fore the threshold, and offer to sub-
ject himself to such slavery as no
slave even would endure; he would
be frustrated of the attainment of
what he sought, both by his enemies
and friends, these reviling him for his
flattery, those sharply admonishing
him, and taking to themselves the
38
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shame of his servility. But there is a
certain grace in a lover who does all
these things, so that he alone may
do them without dishonour. It is
commonly said that the Gods accord
pardon to the lover alone if he should
break his oath, and that there is no
oath by Venus. Thus, as our law de-
clares, both Gods and men have given
to lovers all possible indulgence.
"The affair, however, I imagine,
stands thus : — As I have before said,
love cannot be considered in itself as
either honourable or dishonourable :
if it is honourably pursued, it is hon-
ourable ; if dishonourably, dishonour-
able: it is dishonourable basely to
serve and gratify a worthless person ;
it is honourable honourably to serve
a person of virtue. That Pandemic
lover who loves rather the body than
the soul is worthless, nor can be con-
stant and consistent, since he has
placed his affections on that which
has no stability. For as soon as the
flower of the form, which was the
sole object of his desire, has faded,
then he departs and is seen no more ;
bound by no faith nor shame of his
39
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many promises and persuasions. But
he who is the lover of virtuous man-
ners is constant during life, since he
has placed himself in harmony and
desire with that which is consistent
with itself.
"These two classes of persons we
ought to distinguish with careful ex-
amination, so that we may serve and
converse with the one and avoid the
other ; determining, by that inquiry,
by what a man is attracted, and for
what the object of his love is dear to
him. On the same account it is con-
sidered as dishonourable to be in-
spired with love at once, lest time
should be wanting to know and ap-
prove the character of the object. It
is considered dishonourable to be
captivated by the allurements of
wealth and power, or terrified through
injuries to yield up the affections, or
not to despise in the comparison with
an unconstrained choice all political
influence and personal advantage.
For no circumstance is there in
wealth or power so invariable and
consistent, as that no generous
friendship can ever spring up from
40
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amongst them. We have an opinion
with respect to lovers which declares
that it shall not be considered servile
or disgraceful, though the lover
should submit himself to any species
of slavery for the sake of his beloved.
The same opinion holds with respect
to those who undergo any degrada-
tion for the sake of virtue. And also
it is esteemed among us, that if any
one chooses to serve and obey an-
other for the purpose of becoming
more wise or more virtuous through
the intercourse that might thence
arise, such willing slavery is not the
slavery of a dishonest flatterer.
Through this we should consider in
the same light a servitude undertak-
en for the sake of love as one under-
taken for the acquirement of wisdom
or any other excellence, if indeed the
devotion of a lover to his beloved is
to be considered a beautiful thing.
For when the lover and the beloved
have once arrived at the same point,
the province of each being distin-
guished ; * * * the one able to
assist in the cultivation of the mind
and in the acquirement of every other
41
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excellence ; the other yet requiring*
education, and seeking the possess-
ion of wisdom ; then alone, by the
union of these conditions, and in no
other case, is it honourable for the
beloved to yield up the affections to
the lover. In this servitude alone
there is no disgrace in being deceived
and defeated of the object for which
it was undertaken, whereas every
other is disgraceful, whether we are
deceived or no.
"On the same principle, if any one
seeks the friendship of another, be-
lieving him to be virtuous, for the
sake of becoming better through
such intercourse and affection, and is
deceived, his friend turning out to be
worthless, and far from the possess-
ion of virtue ; yet it is honourable to
have been so deceived. For such a
one seems to have submitted to a
kind of servitude, because he would
endure anything for the sake of be-
coming more virtuous and wise; a
disposition of mind eminently beau-
tiful.
"This is that Love who attends on
the Uranian deity, and is Uranian ;
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the author of innumerable benefits
both to the state and to individuals,
and by the necessity of whose influ-
ence those who love are disciplined
into the zeal of virtue. All other loves
are the attendants on Venus Pande-
mos. So much, although unpremedi-
tated, is what I have to deliver on the
subject of love, O Phaedrus."
Pausanias having ceased (for so
the learned teach me to denote the
changes of the discourse), Aristode-
mus said that it came to the turn of
Aristophanes to speak ; but it hap-
pened that, from repletion or some
other cause, he had an hiccough
which prevented him ; so he turned to
Eryximachus, the physician, who was
reclining close beside him, and said
— "Eryximachus, it is but fair that
you should cure my hiccough, or
speak instead of me until it is over."
— "I will do both," said Eryximachus ;
"I will speak in your turn, and you,
when your hiccough has ceased, shall
speak in mine. Meanwhile, if you
hold your breath some time, it will
subside. If not, gargle your throat
with water ; and if it still continue,
43
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take something to stimulate your
nostrils, and sneeze ; do this once or
twice, and even though it should be
very violent it will cease." — "Whilst
you speak," said Aristophanes, "I
will follow your directions." — Eryxi-
machus then began : —
"Since Pausanias, beginning his
discourse excellently, placed no fit
completion and development to it, I
think it necessary to attempt to fill
up what he has left unfinished. He
has reasoned well in defining love as
of a double nature. The science of
medicine, to which I have addicted
myself, seems to teach me that the
love which impels towards those who
are beautiful, does not subsist only
in the souls of men, but in the bodies
also of those of all other living beings
which are produced upon earth, and,
in a word, in all things which are. So
wonderful and mighty is this divinity,
and so widely is his influence extend-
ed over all divine and human things !
For the honour of my profession, I
will begin by adducing a proof from
medicine. The nature of the body
contains within itself this double love.
44
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For that which is healthy and that
which is diseased in a body differ and
are unlike : that which is unlike, loves
and desires that which is unlike.
Love, therefore, is different in a sane
and in a diseased body. Pausanias
has asserted rightly that it is hon-
ourable to gratify those things in the
body which are good and healthy, and
in this consists the skill of the phy-
sician; whilst those which are bad
and diseased, ought to be treated
with no indulgence. The science of
medicine, in a word, is a knowledge
of the love affairs of the body, as they
bear relation to repletion and evacu-
ation ; and he is the most skillful phy-
sician who can trace those operations
of the good and evil love, can make
the one change places with the other,
and attract love into those parts from
which he is absent, or expel him from
those which he ought not to occupy.
He ought to make those things which
are most inimical, friendly, and excite
them to mutual love. But those
things are most inimical which are
most opposite to each other ; cold to
heat, bitterness to sweetness, dry-
45
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ness to moisture. Our progenitor,
^Esculapius, as the poets inform us,
(and indeed I believe them,) through
the skill which he possessed to in-
spire love and concord in these con-
tending principles, established the
science of medicine.
"The gymnastic arts and agricul-
ture, no less than medicine, are exer-
cised under the dominion of this God.
Music, as any one may perceive, who
yields a very slight attention to the
subject, originates from the same
source; which Heraclitus probably
meant, though he could not express
his meaning very clearly in words,
when he says, 'One though apparent-
ly differing, yet so agrees with itself,
as the harmony of a lyre and a bow.'
It is great absurdity to say that a
harmony differs, and can exist be-
tween things whilst they are dissim-
ilar ; but probably he meant that from
sounds which first differed, like the
grave and the acute, and which after-
wards agreed, harmony was pro-
duced according to musical art. For
no harmony can arise from the grave
and the acute whilst yet they differ.
46
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But harmony is symphony : sympho-
ny is, as it were, concord. But it is
impossible that concord should sub-
sist between things that differ, so
long as they differ. Between things
which are discordant and dissimilar
there is then no harmony. A rhythm
is produced from that which is quick,
and that which is slow, first being
distinguished and opposed to each
other, and then made accordant ; so
does medicine, no less than music,
establish a concord between the ob-
jects of its art, producing love and
agreement between adverse things.
"Music is then the knowledge of
that which relates to love in harmony
and system. In the very system of
harmony and rhythm, it is easy to
distinguish love. The double love is
not distinguishable in music itself;
but it is required to apply it to the
service of mankind by system and
harmony, which is called poetry, or
the composition of melody ; or by the
correct use of songs and measures
already composed, which is called
discipline; then one can be distin-
guished from the other, by the aid of
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an extremely skillful artist. And the
better love ought to be honoured and
preserved for the sake of those who
are virtuous, and that the nature of
the vicious may be changed through
the inspiration of its spirit. This is
that beautiful Uranian love, the at-
tendant on the Uranian muse: the
Pandemian is the attendant of Poly-
hymnia ; to whose influence we should
only so far subject ourselves, as to
derive pleasure from it without in-
dulging to excess ; in the same man-
ner as, according to our art, we are
instructed to seek the pleasures of
the table, only so far as we can enjoy
them without the consequences of dis-
ease. In music, therefore, and in
medicine, and in all other things, hu-
man and divine, this double love
ought to be traced and discriminated ;
for it is in all things.
"Even the constitution of the sea-
sons of the year is penetrated with
these contending principles. For so
often as heat and cold, dryness and
moisture, of which I spoke before, are
influenced by the more benignant
love, and are harmoniously and tem-
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perately intermingled with the sea-
sons, they bring maturity and health
to men, and to all the other animals
and plants. But when the evil and
injurious love assumes the dominion
of the seasons of the year, destruction
is spread widely abroad. Then pes-
tilence is accustomed to arise, and
many other blights and diseases fall
upon animals and plants : and hoar
frosts, and hails, and mildew on the
corn, are produced from that exces-
sive and disorderly love, with which
each season of the year is impelled
towards the other; the motions of
which and the knowledge of the
stars, is called astronomy. All sac-
rifices, and all those things in which
divination is concerned (for these
things are the links by which is main-
tained an intercourse and commun-
ion between the Gods and men,) are
nothing else than the science of pre-
servation and right government of
Love. For impiety is accustomed to
spring up, so soon as any one ceases
to serve the more honourable Love,
and worship him by the sacrifice of
good actions ; but submits himself to
49
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the influences of the other, in relation
to his duties towards his parents,
and the Gods, and the living, and the
dead. It is the object of divination
to distinguish and remedy the effects
of these opposite loves ; and divina-
tion is therefore the author of the
friendship of Gods and men, because
it affords the knowledge of what in
matters of love is lawful or unlawful
to men.
"Thus every species of love pos-
sesses collectively a various and vast,
or rather universal power. But love
which incites to the acquirement of
its objects according to virtue and
wisdom, possesses the most exclu-
sive dominion, and prepares for his
worshippers the highest happiness
through the mutual intercourse of
social kindness which it promotes
among them, and through the benevo-
lence which he attracts to them from
the Gods, our superiors.
"Probably in thus praising Love, I
have unwillingly omitted many
things ; but it is your business, O
Aristophanes, to fill up all that I have
50
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left incomplete ; or, if you have imag-
ined any other mode of honouring the
divinity ; for I observe your hiccough
is over."
"Yes," said Aristophanes, "but not
before I applied the sneezing. I won-
der why the harmonious construction
of our body should require such noisy
operations as sneezing ; for it ceased
the moment I sneezed." — "Do you not
observe what you do, my good Aris-
tophanes?" said Eryximachus; "you
are going to speak, and you predis-
pose us to laughter, and compel me
to watch for the first ridiculous idea
which you may start in your dis-
course, when you might have spoken
in peace."— "Let me unsay what I
have said, then," replied Aristo-
phanes, laughing. "Do not watch
me, I entreat you ; though I am not
afraid of saying what is laughable,
(since that would be all gain, and
quite in the accustomed spirit of my
muse,) but lest I should say what is
ridiculous." — "Do you think to throw
your dart, and escape with impunity,
Aristophanes ? Attend, and what you
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say be careful you maintain; then, per-
haps, if it pleases me, I may dismiss
you without question."
"Indeed, Eryximachus," proceeded
Aristophanes, "I have designed that
my discourse should be very different
from yours and that of Pausanias.
It seems to me that mankind are by no
means penetrated with a conception
of the power of Love, or they would
have built sumptuous temples and
altars and have established magnifi-
cent rites of sacrifice in his honour; he
deserves worship and homage more
than all the other Gods and he has
yet received none. For Love is of all
the Gods the most friendly to mortals;
and the physician of those wounds,
whose cure would be the greatest
happiness which could be conferred
upon the human race. I will endea-
vour to unfold to you his true power,
and you can relate what I declare to
others.
"You ought first to know the na-
ture of man, and the adventures he
has gone through ; for his nature was
anciently far different from that which
it is at present. First, then, human
52
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beings were formerly not divided into
two sexes, male and female ; there
was also a third, common to both the
others, the name of which remains,
though the sex itself has disappeared.
The androgynous sex, both in ap-
pearance and in name, was common
both to male and female; its name
alone remains, which labours under
a reproach.
" At the period to which I refer, the
form of every human being was round,
the back and the sides being circu-
larly joined, and each had four arms
and as many legs; two faces fixed
upon a round neck, exactly like each
other; one head between the two
faces ; four ears, and everything else
as from such proportions it is easy to
conjecture. Man walked upright as
now, in whatever direction he pleased;
but when he wished to go fast he
made use of all his eight limbs, and
proceeded in a rapid motion by rol-
ling circularly round, — like tumblers,
who, with their legs in the air, tumble
round and round. We account for
the production of three sexes by sup-
posing that, at the beginning, the
53
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male was produced from the sun, the
female from the earth ; and that sex
which participated in both sexes,
from the moon, by reason of the an-
drogynous nature of the moon. They
were round, and their mode of pro-
ceeding was round, from the similar-
ity which must needs subsist between
them and their parent.
"They were strong also, and had
aspiring thoughts. They it was who
levied war against the Gods; and
what Homer writes concerning Ephi-
altus and Otus, that they sought to
ascend heaven and dethrone the Gods,
in reality relates to this primitive
people. Jupiter and the other Gods
debated what was to be done in this
emergency. For neither could they
prevail on themselves to destroy
them, as they had the giants, with
thunder, so that the race should be
abolished ; for in that case they would
be deprived of the honours of the sac-
rifices which they were in the custom
of receiving from them ; nor could
they permit a continuance of their in-
solence and impiety. Jupiter, with
some difficulty having desired silence,
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at length spoke. 'I think,' said he, 'I
have contrived a method by which we
may, by rendering the human race
more feeble, quell the insolence which
they exercise, without proceeding to
their utter destruction. I will cut
each of them in half; and so they will
at once be weaker and more useful
on account of their numbers. They
shall walk upright on two legs. If
they show any more insolence, and
will not keep quiet, I will cut them
up in half again, so they shall go
about hopping on one leg/
" So saying, he cut human beings
in half, as people cut eggs before
they salt them, or as I have seen eggs
cut with hairs. He ordered Apollo
to take each one as he cut him, and
turn his face and half his neck to-
wards the operation, so that by con-
templating it he might become more
cautious and humble; and then, to
cure him, Apollo turned the face
round, and drawing the skin upon
what we now call the belly, like a con-
tracted pouch, and leaving one open-
ing, that which is called the navel,
tied it in the middle. He then
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smoothed many other wrinkles, and
moulded the breast with much such
an instrument as the leather-cutters
use to smooth the skins upon the
block. He left only a few wrinkles
in the belly, near the navel, to serve
as a record of its former adventures.
Immediately after this division, as
each desired to possess the other half
of himself, these divided people threw
their arms around and embraced each
other, seeking to grow together ; and
from this resolution to do nothing
without the other half, they died of
hunger and weakness : when one half
died and the other was left alive, that
which was thus left sought the other
and folded it to its bosom ; whether
that half were an entire woman (for
we now call it a woman) or a man ;
and thus they perished. But Jupiter,
pitying them, thought of another con-
trivance. * * * In this manner is
generation now produced, by the un-
ion of male and female; so that from
the embrace of a man and woman the
race is propagated.
"From this period, mutual love has
naturally existed between human be-
56
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ings; that reconciler and bond of
union of their original nature, which
seeks to make two one, and to heal
the divided nature of man. Every one
of us is thus the half of what may be
properly termed a man, and like a
pselta cut in two, is the imperfect
portion of an entire whole, perpetual-
ly necessitated to seek the half be-
longing to him. * * * *
"Such as I have described is ever
an affectionate lover and a faithful
friend, delighting in that which is in
conformity with his own nature.
Whenever, therefore, any such as I
have described are impetuously
struck, through the sentiment of their
former union, with love and desire
and the want of community, they are
unwilling to be divided even for a mo-
ment. These are they who devote
their whole lives to each other, with
a vain and inexpressible longing to
obtain from each other something
they know not what; for it is not
merely the sensual delights of their
intercourse for the sake of which they
dedicate themselves to each other
with such serious affection ; but the
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soul of each manifestly thirsts for,
from the other, something which
there are no words to describe, and
divines that which it seeks, and traces
obscurely the footsteps of its obscure
desire. If Vulcan should say to per-
sons thus affected, ' My good people,
what is it that you want with one an-
other?' And if, while they were
hesitating what to answer, he should
proceed to ask, 'Do you not desire
the closest union and singleness to
exist between you, so that you may
never be divided night or day ? If so,
I will melt you together, and make
you grow into one, so that both in
life and death ye may be undivided.
Consider, is this what you desire?
Will it content you if you become
that which I propose?' We all know
that no one would refuse such an of-
fer, but would at once feel that this
was what he had ever sought ; and
intimately to mix and melt and to be
melted together with his beloved, so
that one should be made out of two.
"The cause of this desire is, that
according to our original nature, we
were once entire. The desire and the
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pursuit of integrity and union is that
which we all love. First, as I said,
we were entire, but now we have
been dwindled through our own
weakness, as the Arcadians by the
Lacedemonians. There is reason to
fear, if we are guilty of any additional
impiety towards the Gods, that we
may be cut in two again, and may go
about like those figures painted on
the columns, divided through the
middle of our nostrils, as thin as
lispse. On which account every man
ought to be exhorted to pay due rev-
erence to the Gods, that we may es-
cape so severe a punishment, and
obtain those things which Love,
our general and commander, incites
us to desire ; against whom let none
rebel by exciting the hatred of the
Gods. For if we continue on good
terms with them, we may discover
and possess those lost and concealed
objects of our love; a good-fortune
which now befalls to few.
"I assert, then, that the happiness
of all, both men and women, consists
singly in the fulfillment of their love,
and in that possession of its objects
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by which we are in some degree re-
stored to our ancient nature. If this
be the completion of felicity, that
must necessarily approach nearest
to it, in which we obtain the possess-
ion and society of those whose na-
tures most intimately accord with
our own. And if we would celebrate
any God as the author of this benefit,
we should justly celebrate Love with
hymns of joy ; who, in our present
condition, brings good assistance in
our necessity, and affords great
hopes, if we preserve in piety towards
the Gods, that he will restore us to
our original state, and confer on us
the complete happiness alone suited
to our nature.
"Such, Eryximachus, is my dis-
course on the subject of Love ; differ-
ent indeed from yours, which I never-
theless intreat you not to turn into
ridicule, that we may not interrupt
what each has separately to deliver
on the subject."
"I will refrain at present," said
Eryximachus, "for your discourse
delighted me. And if I did not know
that Socrates and Agathon were pro-
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foundly versed in the science of love
affairs, I should fear that they had
nothing new to say, after so many
and such various imaginations. As
it is, I confide in the fertility of their
geniuses." — "Your part of the con-
test, at least, was strenuously fought,
Eryximachus," said Socrates, "but if
you had been in the situation in which
I am, or rather shall be, after the dis-
course of Agathon,like me, you would
then have reason to fear, and be re-
duced to your wits' end." — "Socra-
tes," said Agathon, "wishes to con-
fuse me with the inchantments of his
wit, sufficiently confused already with
the expectation I see in the assembly
in favour of my discourse." — "I must
have lost my memory, Agathon," re-
plied Socrates, " If I imagine that you
could be disturbed by a few private
persons, after having witnessed your
firmness and courage in ascending
the rostrum with the actors, and in
calmly reciting your compositions in
the presence of so great an assembly
as that which decreed you the prize
of tragedy."— "What then, Socrates,"
retorted Agathon, " do you think me
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so full of the theatre as to be igno-
rant that the judgment of a few wise
is more awful than that of a multitude
of others, to one who rightly balances
the value of their suffrages ?" — " I
should judge ill indeed, Agathon,"
answered Socrates, "in thinking you
capable of any rude and unrefined
conception, for I well know that if you
meet with any whom you consider
wise, you esteem such alone of more
value than all others. But we are
far from being entitled to this distinc-
tion, for we were also of that assem-
bly, and to be numbered among the
rest. But should you meet with any
who are really wise, you would be
careful to say nothing in their pres-
ence which you thought they would
not approve — is it not so?" — "Cer-
tainly," replied Agathon. — " You
would not then exercise the same
caution in the presence of the multi-
tude in which they were included?"
"My dear Agathon," said Phaedrus,
interrupting him, "if you answer all
the questions of Socrates, they will
never have an end ; he will urge them
without conscience so long as he can
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get any person, especially one who is
so beautiful, to dispute with him. I
own it delights me to hear Socrates
discuss ; but at present, I must see
that Love is not defrauded of the
praise, which it is my province to ex-
act from each of you. Pay the God
his due, and then reason between
yourselves if you will."
"Your admonition is just, Phae-
drus," replied Agathon, "nor need
any reasoning I hold with Socrates
impede me : we shall find many fu-
ture opportunities for discussion. I
will begin my discourse then; first
having defined what ought to be the
subject of it. All who have already
spoken seem to me not so much to
have praised Love, as to have felici-
tated mankind on the many advan-
tages of which that deity is the cause;
what he is, the author of these great
benefits, none have yet declared.
There is one mode alone of celebra-
tion which would comprehend the
whole topic, namely, first to declare
what are those benefits, and then
what he is who is the author of those
benefits, which are the subject of our
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discourse. Love ought first to be
praised, and then his gifts declared.
I assert, then, that although all the
Gods are immortally happy, Love, if
I dare trust my voice to express so
awful a truth, is the happiest, and
most excellent, and the most beauti-
ful. That he is the most beautiful is
evident ; first, O Phaedrus, from this
circumstance, that he is the youngest
of the Gods ; and, secondly, from his
fleetness, and from his repugnance to
all that is old; for he escapes with
the swiftness of wings from old age ;
a thing in itself sufficiently swift,
since it overtakes us sooner than
there is need ; and which Love, who
delights in the intercourse of the
young, hates, and in no manner can
be induced to enter into community
with. The ancient proverb, which
says that like is attracted by like,
applies to the attributes of Love. I
concede many things to you O Phae-
drus, but this I do not concede, that
Love is more ancient than Saturn
and Jupiter. I assert that he is not
only the youngest of the Gods, but in-
vested with everlasting youth. Those
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ancient deeds among the Gods re-
corded by Hesiod and Parmenides, if
their relations are to be considered
as true, were produced not by Love,
but by Necessity. For if Love had
been then in Heaven, those violent and
sanguinary crimes never would have
taken place; but there would ever
have subsisted that affection and
peace, in which the Gods now live,
under the influence of Love.
"He is young, therefore, and being
young is tender and soft. There were
need of some poet like Homer to cel-
ebrate the delicacy and tenderness of
Love. For Homer says, that the
goddess Calamity is delicate, and
that her feet are tender. i Her feet
are soft,' he says, <for she treads not
upon the ground, but makes her path
upon the heads of men.' He gives as
an evidence of her tenderness, that
she walks not upon that which is
hard, but that which is soft. The
same evidence is sufficient to make
manifest the tenderness of Love. For
Love walks not upon the earth, nor
over the heads of men, which are not
indeed very soft ; but he dwells with-
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in, and treads on the softest of exist-
ing things, having established his
habitation within the souls and in-
most nature of Gods and men; not
indeed in all souls — for wherever he
chances to find a hard and rugged
disposition, there he will not inhabit,
but only where it is most soft and
tender. Of needs must he be the
most delicate of all things, who
touches lightly with his feet only the
softest parts of those things which
are the softest of all.
"He is then the youngest and the
most delicate of all divinities ; and in
addition to this, he is, as it were, the
most moist and liquid. For if he
were otherwise, he could not, as he
does, fold himself around everything,
and secretly flow out and into every
soul. His loveliness, that which Love
possesses far beyond all other things,
is a manifestation of the liquid and
flowing symmetry of his form ; for be-
tween deformity and Love there is
eternal contrast and repugnance.
His life is spent among flowers, and
this accounts for the immortal fair-
ness of his skin ; for the winged Love
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rests not in his flight on any form, or
within any soul the flower of whose
loveliness is faded, but there remains
most willingly where is the odour and
the radiance of blossoms, yet unwith-
ered. Concerning the beauty of the
God, let this be sufficient, though
many things must remain unsaid.
Let us next consider the virtue and
power of Love.
"What is most admirable in Love
is, that he neither inflicts nor endures
injury in his relations either with
Gods or men. Nor if he suffers any
thing does he suffer it through vio-
lence, nor doing any thing does he
act it with violence, for Love is never
even touched with violence. Every
one willingly administers every thing
to Love; and that which every one
voluntarily concedes to another, the
laws, which are the kings of the re-
public, decree that is just for him to
possess. In addition to justice, Love
participates in the highest temper-
ance ; for if temperance is defined to
be the being superior to and holding
under dominion pleasures and de-
sires; then Love, than whom no
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pleasure is more powerful, and who
is thus more powerful than all per-
suasions and delights, must be excel-
lently temperate. In power and val-
our Mars cannot contend with Love :
the love of Venus possesses Mars ;
the possessor is always superior
to the possessed, and he who sub-
dues the most powerful must of ne-
cessity be the most powerful of all.
"The justice and temperance and
valour of the God have been thus de-
clared ; — there remains to exhibit his
wisdom. And first, that, like Eryx-
imachus, I may honour my own pro-
fession, the God is a wise poet; so
wise that he can even make a poet
one who was not before : for every
one, even if before he were ever so
undisciplined, becomes a poet as soon
as he is touched by Love ; — a suffi-
cient proof that Love is a great poet,
and well skilled in that science ac-
cording to the discipline of music. For
what any one possesses not, or knows
not, that can he neither give nor teach
another. And who will deny that the
divine poetry, by which all living
things are produced upon the earth,
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is harmonized by the wisdom of Love?
Is it not evident that Love was the
author of all the arts of life with which
we are acquainted, and that he whose
teacher has been Love, becomes emi-
nent and illustrious, whilst he who
knows not Love, remains forever un-
regarded and obscure? Apollo in-
vented medicine, and divination, and
archery, under the guidance of desire
and Love; so that Apollo was the dis-
ciple of Love. Through him the
Muses discovered the arts of litera-
ture, and Vulcan that of moulding
brass, and Minerva the loom, and
Jupiter the mystery of the dominion
which he now exercises over gods and
men. So were the Gods taught and
disciplined by the love of that which
is beautiful ; for there is no love to-
wards deformity.
"At the origin of things, as I have
before said, many fearful deeds are
reported to have been done among
the Gods, on account of the domin-
ion of necessity. But so soon as this
deity sprang forth from the desire
which forever tends in the universe
towards that which is lovely, then all
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blessings descended upon all living
things, human and divine. Love
seems to me, O Phaedrus, a divinity
the most beautiful and the best of all,
and the author to all others of the ex-
cellencies with which his own nature
is endowed. Nor can I restrain the
poetic enthusiasm which takes poss-
ession of my discourse, and bids me
declare that Love is the divinity who
creates peace among men, and calm
upon the sea, the windless silence of
storms, repose and sleep in sadness.
Love divests us of all alienation
from each other, and fills our vacant
hearts with overflowing sympathy ;
he gathers us together in such social
meetings as we now delight to cele-
brate, our guardian and our guide in
dances, and sacrifices, and feasts.
Yes, Love, who showers benignity
upon the world, and before whose
presence all harsh passions flee and
perish; the author of all soft affec-
tions ; the destroyer of all ungentle
thoughts; merciful, mild; the object
of the admiration of the wise, and the
delight of gods ; possessed by the for-
tunate, and desired by the unhappy,
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therefore unhappy because they
possess him not ; the father of grace,
and delicacy, and gentleness, and de-
light, and persuasion, and desire; the
cherisher of all that is good, the abol-
isher of all evil ; our most excellent
pilot, defence, saviour and guardian
in labour and in fear, in desire and in
reason; the ornament and governor
of all things human and divine; the
best, the loveliest; in whose footsteps
every one ought to follow, celebrating
him excellently in song, and bearing
each his part in that divinest harmony
which Love sings to all things which
live and are, soothing the troubled
minds of Gods and men. This, O
Phapdrus, is what I have to offer in
praise of the divinity; partly com-
posed, indeed, of thoughtless and
playful fancies, and partly of such
serious ones, as I could well com-
mand."
No sooner had Agathon ceased,
than a loud murmur of applause
arose from all present; so becomingly
had the fair youth spoken, both in
praise of the God, and in extenuation of
himself. Then Socrates, addressing
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Eryximachus, said — "Was not my
fear reasonable, son of Acumenus?
Did I not divine what has, in fact,
happened, — that Agathon' s discourse
would be so wonderfully beautiful,
as to preoccupy all interest in what
I should say?"— "You, indeed, di-
vined well so far, O Socrates/' said
Eryximachus, "that Agathon would
speak eloquently, but not that, there-
fore, you would be reduced to any
difficulty." — "How, my good friend,
can I or any one else be otherwise
than reduced to difficulty, who speak
after a discourse so various and so
eloquent, and which otherwise had
been sufficiently wonderful, if, at the
conclusion, the splendour of the sen-
tences, and the choice selection of
the expressions, had not struck all
the hearers with astonishment; so
that I, who well know that I can
never say anything nearly so beau-
tiful as this, would, if there had
been any escape, have run away for
shame. The story of Gorgias came
into my mind, and I was afraid lest
in reality I should suffer what Homer
describes; and lest Agathon, scan-
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ning my discourse with the head of
the eloquent Gorgias, should turn me
to stone for speechlessness. I im-
mediately perceived how ridiculously
I had engaged myself with you to as-
sume a part in rendering praise to
love, and had boasted that I was well
skilled in amatory matters, being so
ignorant of the manner in which it is
becoming to render him honour, as I
now perceive myself to be. I, in my
simplicity, imagined that the truth
ought to be spoken concerning each
of the topics of our praise, and that it
would be sufficient, choosing those
which are the most honourable to the
God, to place them in as luminous an
arrangement as we could. I had,
therefore, great hopes that I should
speak satisfactorily, being well aware
that I was acquainted with the true
foundations of the praise which we
have engaged to render. But since,
as it appears, our purpose has been,
not to render Love his due honour,
but to accumulate the most beautiful
and the greatest attributes of his di-
vinity, whether they in truth belong to
it or not, and that the proposed ques-
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tion is not how Love ought to be
praised, but how we should praise
him most eloquently, my attempt
must of necessity fail. It is on this
account, I imagine, that in your dis-
courses you have attributed every-
thing to Love, and have described him
to be the author of such and so great
effects as, to those who are ignorant
of his true nature, may exhibit him as
the most beautiful and the best of all
things. Not, indeed, to those who
know the truth. Such praise has a
splendid and imposing effect, but as
I am unacquainted with the art of
rendering it, my mind, which could
not forsee what would be required of
me, absolves me from that which my
tongue promised. Farewell then, for
such praise I can never render.
"But if you desire, I will speak
what I feel to be true ; and that I may
not expose myself to ridicule, I en-
treat you to consider that I speak
without entering into competition
with those who have preceded me.
Consider, then, Phaedrus, whether you
will exact from me such a discourse,
containing the mere truth with re-
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spect to Love, and composed of such
unpremeditated expressions as may
chance to offer themselves to my
mind." — Phaedrus and the rest bade
him speak in the manner which he
judged most befitting. — "Permit me,
then, O Phaedrus, to ask Agathon a
a few questions, so that, confirmed
by his agreement with me, I may pro-
ceed."—"Willingly," replied Phse-
drus, "ask."— Then Socrates thus
began: —
"I applaud, dear Agathon, the be-
ginning of your discourse, where you
say, we ought first to define and de-
clare what Love is, and then his
works. This rule I particularly ap-
prove. But, come, since you have
given us a discourse of such beauty
and majesty concerning Love, you
are able, I doubt not, to explain this
question, whether L^ve is the love of
something or nothing? I do not ask
you of what parents Love is ; for the
inquiry, of whether Love is the love
of any father or mother, would be suf-
ficiently ridiculous. But if I were
asking you to describe that which a
father is, I should ask, not whether
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a father was the love of any one, but
whether a father was the father of
any one or not ; you would undoubt-
edly reply, that a father was the
father of a son or daughter ; would
you not ?" — " Assuredly." — " You
would define a mother in the same
manner ? "— " Without doubt."—" Yet
bear with me, and answer a few more
questions, for I would learn from you
that which I wish to know. If I should
inquire, in addition, is not a brother,
through the very nature of his relation,
the brother of some one?" — " Certain-
ly."— "Of a brother or sister, is he
not ?"— " Without question."—" Try
to explain to me then the nature of
Love ; Love is the love of something
or nothing?"— "Of something, cer-
tainly."
"Observe and remember this con-
cession. Tell me yet farther, whether
Love desires that of which it is the
Love or not?" — "It desires it, assur-
edly."— "Whether possessing that
which it desires and loves, or not pos-
sessing it, does it desire and love?" —
" Not possessing it, I should imagine."
—"Observe now, whether it does not
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appear, that, of necessity, desire de-
sires that which it wants and does
not possess, and no longer desires
that which it no longer wants : this
appears to me, Agathon, of necessity
to be ; how does it appear to you ? " —
"It appears so to me also." — "Would
any one who was already illustrious,
desire to be illustrious; would any
one already strong, desire to be
strong? From what has already
been conceded, it follows that he
would not. If any one already strong,
should desire to be strong; or any
one already swift, should desire to be
swift; or any one already healthy,
should desire to be healthy, it must
be concluded that they still desired
the advantages of which they already
seemed possessed. To destroy the
foundation of this error, observe,
Agathon, that each GI these persons
must possess the several advantages
in question, at the moment present to
our thoughts, whether he will or no.
And, now, is it possible that those
advantages should be at that time
the objects of his desire ? For, if any
one should say, being in health, 'I de-
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sire to be in health;* being rich, 'I
desire to be rich, and thus still desire
those things which I already possess;'
we might say to him, 'You, my friend,
possess health, and strength, and
riches ; you dp not desire to possess
now, but continue to possess them in
future ; for, whether you will or no,
they now belong to you. Consider
then, whether, when you say that you
desire things present to you, and in
your own possession, you say any-
thing else than that you desire the
advantages to be for the future also
in your possession.' What else could
he reply?"— "Nothing, indeed."— "Is
not Love, then, the love of that which
is not within its reach, and which can-
not hold in security, for the future,
those things of which it obtains a
present and transitory possession?"
— " Evidently." — "Love, therefore, and
everything else that desires anything,
desires that which is absent and be-
yond his reach, that which it has not,
that which is not itself, that which it
wants ; such are the things of which
there are desire and love."— "As-
suredly."
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"Come," said Socrates, "let us re-
view your concessions. Is Love any-
thing else than the love first of some-
thing ; and, secondly, of those things
of which it has need ? "— " Nothing."—
" Now, remember of those things you
said in your discourse, that Love was
the love — if you wish I will remind
you. I think you said something of
this kind, that all the affairs of the
gods were admirably disposed
through the love of the things which
are beautiful ; for, there was no love
of things deformed ; did you not say
so?"— "I confess that I did."— "You
said what was most likely to be true,
my friend ; and if the matter be so,
the love of beauty must be one thing,
and the love of deformity another." —
"Certainly."— "It is conceded, then,
that Love loves that which he wants
but possesses not?"— "Yes, certain-
ly."— " But Love wants and does not
possess beauty?" — "Indeed it must
necessarily follow." — "What, then!
call you that beautiful which has need
of beauty and possesses not ?" — " As-
suredly no." — "Do you still assert,
then, that Love is beautiful, if all that
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we have said be true?" — "Indeed,
Socrates," said Agathon, "I am in
danger of being convicted of ignor-
ance, with respect to all that I then
spoke." — "You spoke most eloquent-
ly, my dear Agathon ; but bear with
my questions yet a moment. You
admit that things which are good are
also beautiful?"— "No doubt."— "If
Love, then, be in want of beautiful
things, and things which are good are
beautiful, he must be in want of things
which are good?" — "I cannot refute
your arguments, Socrates." — "You
cannot refute truth, my dear Aga-
thon: to refute Socrates is nothing
difficult.
"But I will dismiss these question-
ings. At present let me endeavour,
to the best of my power, to repeat to
you, on the basis of the points which
have been agreed upon between me
and Agathon, a discourse concerning
Love, which I formerly heard from the
prophetess Diotima, who was pro-
foundly skilled in this and many other
doctrines, and who, ten years before
the pestilence, procured to the Athen-
ians, through their sacrifices, a delay
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of the disease ; for it was she who
taught me the science of things relat-
ing to Love.
"As you well remarked, Agathon,
we ought to declare who and what is
Love, and then his works. It is easi-
est to relate them in the same order,
as the foreign prophetess observed
when, questioning me, she related
them. For I said to her much the
same things that Agathon has just
said to me — that Love was a great
deity, and that he was beautiful ; and
she refuted me with the same reasons
as I have employed to refute Aga-
thon, compelling me to infer that he
was neither beautiful nor good, as I
said.— 'What, then,1 I objected, 'O
Diotima, is Love ugly and evil?' —
'Good words, I entreat you/ said Dio-
tima; 'do you think that every thing
which is not beautiful, must of neces-
sity be ugly?' — 'Certainly/— 'And
everything that is not wise, ignorant ?
Do you not perceive that there is some-
thing between ignorance and wis-
dom ?'— ' What is that ?'— 'To have a
right opinion or conjecture. Observe,
that this kind of opinion, for which no
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reason can be rendered, cannot be
called knowledge ; for how can that
be called knowledge, which is with-
out evidence or reason ? Nor ignor-
ance, on the other hand ; for how can
that be called ignorance which arrives
at the persuasion of that which it
really is ? A right opinion is some-
thing between understanding and ig-
norance.'— I confessed that what she
alleged was true. — 'Do you then say/
she continued, 'that what is not beau-
tifulis of necessity deformed, nor what
is not good is of necessity evil ; nor,
since you have confessed that Love is
neither beautiful nor good, infer, there-
fore, that he is deformed or evil, but
rather something intermediate/
"'But/ I said, 'Love is confessed
by all to be a great God.1— 'Do you
mean, when you say all, all those who
know, or those who know not, what
they say?'— 'All collectively.'— 'And
how can that be, Socrates?' said she
laughing; 'how can he be acknowl-
edged to be a great God, by those who
assert that he is not even a God at
all?'— 'And who are they?' I said.—
'You for one, and I for another.' —
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'How can you say that, Diotima?' —
'Easily,' she replied, 'and with truth ;
for tell me, do you not own that all the
Gods are beautiful and happy ? or will
you presume to maintain that any God
is otherwise?1— 'By Jupiter, not I!'
'Do you not call those alone happy
who possess all things that are beau-
tiful and good?' — 'Certainly.' — 'You
have confessed that Love, through
his desire for things beautiful and
good, possesses not those materials
of happiness.' — ' Indeed, such was my
concession.' — 'But how can we con-
ceive a God to be without the possess-
ion of what is beautiful and good ?'
— 'In no manner, I confess.' — 'Ob-
serve, then, that you do not consider
Love to be a God.'— 'What, then,' I
said, 'is Love a mortal?' — 'By no
means.'— 'But what, then?'— 'Like
those things which I have before in-
stanced, he is neither mortal nor im-
mortal, but something intermediate.'
—'What is that, O Diotima?' — 'A
great daemon, Socrates; and every-
thing daemoniacal holds an interme-
diate place between what is divine and
what is mortal.'
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" 'What is his power and nature ?'
I inquired. — * He interprets and makes
a communication between divine and
human things, conveying the prayers
and sacrifices of men to the Gods,
and communicating the commands
and directions concerning the mode
of worship most pleasing to them,
from Gods to men. He fills up that
intermediate space between these
two classes of beings, so as to bind
together, by his own power, the whole
universe of things. Through him
subsist all divination, and the science
of sacred things as it relates to sac-
rifices, and expiations, and disen-
chantments, and prophecy, and magic.
The divine nature cannot immediately
communicate with what is human, but
all that intercourse and converse
which is conceded by the Gods to men,
both whilst they sleep and when they
wake, subsists through the interven-
tion of Love ; and he who is wise in
the science of this intercourse is su-
premely happy, and participates in
the daempniacal nature ; whilst he who
is wise in any other science or art,
remains a mere ordinary slave. These
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daemons are, indeed, many and vari-
ous, and one of them is Love.'
" * Who are the parents of Love ?'
I inquired. — 'The history of what you
ask/ replied Diotima, 'is somewhat
long ; nevertheless I will explain it to
you. On the birth of Venus the Gods
celebrated a great feast, and among
them came Plenty, the son of Metis.
After supper, Poverty, observing the
profusion, came to beg, and stood be-
side the door. Plenty being drunk
with nectar, for wine was not yet in-
vented, went out into Jupiter's gar-
den, and fell into a deep sleep. Pov-
erty wishing to have a child by Plenty,
on account of her low estate, lay down
by him, and from his embraces con-
ceived Love. Love is, therefore, the
follower and servant of Venus, be-
cause he was conceived at her birth,
and because by nature he is a lover
of all that is beautiful, and Venus was
beautiful. And since Love is the child
of Poverty and Plenty, his nature and
fortune participate in that of his par-
ents. He is for ever poor, and so far
from being delicate and beautiful, as
mankind imagine, he is squalid and
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withered; he flies low along the
ground, and is homeless and unsan-
dalled; he sleeps without covering
before the doors, and in the unshel-
tered streets ; possessing thus far his
mother's nature, that he is ever the
companion of want. But, inasmuch
as he participates in that of his father,
he is for ever scheming to obtain
things which are good and beautiful ;
he is fearless, vehement, and strong ;
a dreadful hunter, for ever weaving
some new contrivance ; exceedingly
cautious and prudent, and full of re-
sources ; he is also, during his whole
existence, a philosopher, a powerful
enchanter, a wizard, and a subtle
sophist. And, as his nature is neither
mortal nor immortal, on the same day
when he is fortunate and successful,
he will at one time flourish, and then
die away, and then, according to his
father's nature, again revive. All that
he acquires perpetually flows away
from him, so that Love is never either
rich or poor, and holding for ever an
intermediate state between ignorance
and wisdom. The case stands thus ;
— no God philosophizes or desires to
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become wise, for he is wise; nor, if
there exist any other being who is
wise, does he philosophize. Nor do
the ignorant philosophize, for they
desire not to become wise ; for this is
the evil of ignorance, that he who has
neither intelligence, nor virtue, nor
delicacy of sentiment, imagines that
he possesses all those things suffi-
ciently. He seeks not, therefore, that
possession, of whose want he is not
aware.'— 'Who, then, O Diotima,' I
inquired, 'are philosophers, if they are
neither the ignorant nor the wise?'
— ' It is evident, even to a child, that
they are those intermediate persons,
among whom is Love. For Wisdom
is one of the most beautiful of all
things ; Love is that which thirsts for
the beautiful, so that Love is of neces-
sity a philosopher, philosophy being
an intermediate state between ignor-
ance and wisdom. His parentage
accounts for his condition, being the
child of a wise and well provided
father, and of a mother both ignorant
and poor.
" ' Such is the daemoniacal nature,
my dear Socrates ; nor do I wonder
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at your error concerning Love, for you
thought, as I conjecture from what
you say, that Love was not the lover
but the beloved, and thence, well con-
cluded that he must be supremely
beautiful ; for that which is the object
of Love must indeed be fair, and deli-
cate, and perfect, and most happy;
but Love inherits, as I have declared,
a totally opposite nature.' — 'Your
words have persuasion in them, O
stranger/ I said; 'be it as you say.
But this Love, what advantages does
he afford to men ?' — 'I will proceed to
explain it to you, Socrates. Love be-
ing such and so produced as I have
described, is, indeed, as you say, the
love of things which are beautiful.
But if any one should ask us, saying :
O Socrates and Diotima, why is Love
the love of beautiful things ? Or, in
plainer words, what does the lover of
that which is beautiful, love in the ob-
ject of his love, and seek from it?' —
'He seeks,' I said, interrupting her, 'the
property and possession of it.' — 'But
that,' she replied, 'might still be met
with another question, What has he,
who possesses that which is beauti-
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ful?' — 'Indeed, I cannot immediately
reply.' — * But, if changing the beautiful
for good, any one should inquire, — I
ask, O Socrates, what is that which
he who loves that which is good, loves
in the object of his love ?' — 'To be in
his possession,' I replied. — * And what
has he, who has the possession of
good?' — 'This question is of easier
solution, he is happy.' — 'Those who
are happy, then, are happy through
the possession ; and it is useless to
inquire what he desires, who desires
to be happy; the question seems to
have a complete reply. But do you
think that this wish and this love are
common to all men, and that all de-
sire, that that which is good should
be for ever present to them?' — 'Cer-
tainly, common to all.' — 'Why do we
not say then, Socrates, that every one
loves ? if, indeed, all love perpetually
the same thing? But we say that
some love, and some do not.' — ' Indeed
I wonder why it is so.' — 'Wonder not,'
said Diotima, 'for we select a partic-
ular species of love, and apply to it
distinctively, the appellation of that
which is universal.'
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" * Give me an example of such a
select application.' — 'Poetry; which is
ageneral name signifying every cause
whereby anything proceeds from that
which is not, into that which is ; so
that the exercise of every inventive
art is poetry, and all such artists poets.
Yet they are not called poets, but dis-
tinguished by other names ; and one
portion or species of poetry, that which
has relation to music and rhythm, is
divided from all others, and known by
the name belonging to all. For this
is alone properly called poetry, and
those who exercise the art of this spe-
cies of poetry, poets. So, with respect
to Love. Love is indeed universally
all that earnest desire for the possess-
ion of happiness and that which is
good ; the greatest and the subtlest
love, and which inhabits the heart of
every living being; but those who
seek this object through the acquire-
ment of wealth, or the exercise of the
gymnastic arts, or philosophy, are not
said to love, nor are called lovers ; one
species alone is called love, and those
alone are said be lovers, and to love,
who seek the attainment of the uni-
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versal desire through one species of
love, which is peculiarly distinguished
by the name belonging to the whole.
It is asserted by some, that they love,
who are seeking the lost half of their
divided being. But I assert, that Love
is neither the love of half nor of the
whole, unless, my friend, it meets with
that which is good ; since men willing-
ly cut off their own hands and feet, if
they think that they are the cause of
evil to them. Nor do they cherish and
embrace that which may belong to
themselves, merely because it is their
own ; unless, indeed, any one should
choose to say, that that which is good
is attached to his own nature and is
his own, whilst that which is evil is for-
eign and accidental ; but love nothing
but that which is good. Does it not
appear so to you?' — 'Assuredly.' —
1 Can we then simply affirm that men
love that which is good?' — 'Without
doubt.' — 'What, then, must we not
add, that, in addition to loving that
which is good, they love that it should
be present to themselves?' — 'Indeed
that must be added.' — ' And not merely
that it should be present, but that it
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should ever be present ?' — c This also
must be added.'
" 'Love, then, is collectively the de-
sire in men that good should be for
ever present to them.' — 'Most true.1
— * Since this is the general definition
of Love, can you explain in what mode
of attaining its object, and in what
species of actions, does Love pecu-
liarly consist?1 — 'If I knew what you
ask, O Diotima, I should not have so
much wondered at your wisdom, nor
have sought you out for the purpose
of deriving improvement from your
instructions.' — 'I will tell you,' she re-
plied : 'Love is the desire of genera-
tion in the beautiful, both with relation
to the body and the soul.' — 'I must be
a diviner to comprehend what you say,
for, being such as I am, I confess that
I do not understand it.' — 'But I will
explain it more clearly. The bodies
and the souls of all human beings are
alike pregnant with their future pro-
geny, and when we arrive at a certain
age, our nature impels us to bring
forth and propagate. This nature is
unable to produce in that which is de-
formed, but it can produce in that
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which is beautiful. The intercourse
of the male and female in generation,
a divine work, through pregnancy
and production, is, as it were, some-
thing immortal in mortality. These
things cannot take place in that which
is incongruous ; for that which is de-
formed is incongruous, but that which
is beautiful is congruous with what is
immortal and divine. Beauty is, there-
fore, the fate, and the Juno Lucina to
generation. Wherefore, whenever
that which is pregnant with the gener-
ative principle, approaches that which
is beautiful, it becomes transported
with delight, and is poured forth in
overflowing pleasure,and propagates.
But when it approaches that which is
deformed it is contracted by sadness,
and being repelled and checked, it
does not produce, but retains unwill-
ingly that with which i*- is pregnant.
Wherefore, to one pregnant, and, as
it were, already bursting with the load
of his desire, the impulse towards
that which is beautiful is intense, on
account of the great pain of retaining
that which he has conceived. Love,
then, O Socrates, is not as you imag-
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ine the love of the beautiful.' — * What,
then?' — 'Of generation and produc-
tion in the beautiful.' — 'Why then of
generation?' — 'Generation is some-
thing eternal and immortal in mortal-
ity. It necessarily, from what has
beeen confessed, follows, that we must
desire immortality together with what
is good, since Love is the desire that
good be for ever present to us. Of
necessity Love must also be the de-
sire of immortality.'
"Diotima taught me all this doc-
trine in the discourse we had together
concerning Love; and, in addition, she
inquired, 'What do you think, Socra-
tes, is the cause of this love and de-
sire? Do you not perceive how all
animals, both those of the earth and
of the air, are affected when they de-
sire the propagation of their species,
affected even to weakness and dis-
ease by the impulse of their love;
first, longing to be mixed with each
other, and then seeking nourishment
for their offspring, so that the feeblest
are ready to contend with the strong-
est in obedience to this law, and to die
for the sake of their young, or to
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waste away with hunger, and do or
suffer anything so that they may not
want nourishment. It might be said
that human beings do these things
through reason, but can you explain
why other animals are thus affected
through love?' — I confessed that I
did not know. — 'Do you imagine your-
self,' said she, 'to be skilful in the sci-
ence of Love, if you are ignorant of
these things?' — 'As I said before, O
Diotima, I come to you, well knowing
how much I am in need of a teacher.
But explain to me, I entreat you, the
cause of these things, and of the other
things relating to Love.' — 'If,' said
Diotima, ' you believe that Love is of
the same nature as we have mutually
agreed upon, wonder not that such
are its effects. For the mortal nature
seeks, so far as it is able, to become
deathless and eternal. But it can
only accomplish this desire by gener-
ation, which for ever leaves another
new in place of the old. For, although
each human being be severally said
to live, and be the same from youth
to old age, yet, that which is called
the same, never contains within itself
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the same things, but always is be-
coming new by the loss and change
of that which it possessed before;
both the hair and the flesh, and the
bones, and the entire body.
"'And not only does this change
take place in the body, but also with
respect to the soul. Manners, morals,
opinions, desires, pleasures, sorrows,
fears ; none of these ever remain un-
changed in the same persons; but
some die away, and others are pro-
duced. And, what is yet more strange
is, that not only does some knowledge
spring up, and another decay, and
that we are never the same with re-
spect to our knowledge, but that each
several object of our thoughts suffers
the same revolution. That which is
called meditation, or the exercise of
memory, is the science of the escape
or departure of memory; for, forget-
fulness is the going out of knowledge;
and meditation, calling up a new
memory in the place of that which has
departed, preserves knowledge; so
that, though for ever displaced and
restored, it seems to be the same. In
this manner every thing mortal is
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preserved : not that it is constant and
eternal, like that which is divine ; but
that in the place of what has grown
old and is departed, it leaves another
new like that which it was itself. By
this contrivance, O Socrates, does
what is mortal, the body and all other
things, partake of immortality; that
which is immortal, is immortal in an-
other manner. Wonder not, then, if
every thing by nature cherishes that
which was produced from itself, for
this earnest Love is a tendency to-
wards eternity.'
"Having heard this discourse, I
was astonished, and asked, ' Can these
things be true, O wisest Diotima?'
And she, like an accomplished sophist,
said, ' Know well, O Socrates, that if
you only regard that love of glory
which inspires men, you will wonder
at your own unskilfulness in not hav-
ing discovered all that I now declare.
Observe with how vehement a desire
they are affected to become illustrious
and to prolong their glory into im-
mortal time, to attain which object,
far more ardently than for the sake
of their children, all men are ready to
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engage in many dangers, and expend
their fortunes, and submit to any la-
bours and incur any death. Do you
believe that Alcestis would have died
in the place of Admetus, or Achilles
for the revenge of Patroclus, or Codrus
for the kingdom of his posterity, if
they had not believed that the immor-
tal memory of their actions, which we
now cherish, would have remained
after their death? Far otherwise;
all such deeds are done for the sake
of ever-living virtue, and this immor-
tal glory which they have obtained ;
and inasmuch as any one is of an ex-
cellent nature, so much the more is
he impelled to attain this reward.
For they love what is immortal.
"'Those whose bodies alone are
pregnant with this principle of immor-
tality are attracted by women, seek-
ing through the production of children
what they imagine to be happiness
and immortality and an enduring re-
membrance ; but they whose souls are
far more pregnant than their bodies,
conceive and produce that which is
more suitable to the soul. What is
suitable the soul ? Intelligence, and
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every other power and excellence of
the mind ; of which all poets, and all
other artists who are creative and in-
ventive, are the authors. The great-
est and most admirable wisdom is
that which regulates the government
of families and states, and which is
called moderation and justice. Who-
soever, therefore, from his youth feels
his soul pregnant with the conception
of these excellences, is divine ; and
when due time arrives, desires to bring
forth ; and wandering about, he seeks
the beautiful in which he may propa-
gate what he has conceived ; for there
is no generation in that which is de-
formed; he embraces those bodies
which are beautiful rather than those
which are deformed, in obedience to
the principle which is within him, which
is ever seeking to perpetuate itself.
And if he meets, in conjunction with
loveliness of form, a beautiful, gener-
ous and gentle soul, he embraces
both at once, and immediately under-
takes to educate this object of his
love, and is inspired with an overflow-
ing persuasion to declare what is vir-
tue, and what he ought to be who
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would attain to its possession, and
what are the duties which it exacts.
For, by the intercourse with, and as
it were, the very touch of that which
is beautiful, he brings forth and pro-
duces what he had formerly con-
ceived ; and nourishes and educates
that which is thus produced together
with the object of his love, whose im-
age, whether absent or present, is
never divided from his mind. So that
those who are thus united are linked
by a nobler community and a firmer
love, as being the common parents of
a lovelier and more endearing pro-
geny than the parents of other chil-
dren. And every one who considers
what posterity Homer and Hesiod,
and the other great poets, have left
behind them, the sources of their own
immortal memory and renown, or
what children of his soul Lycurgus
has appointed to be the guardians,
not only of Lacedaemon, but of all
Greece ; or what an illustrious pro-
geny of laws Solon has produced, and
how many admirable achievements,
both among the Greeks and Barbar-
ians, men have left as the pledges of
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that love which subsisted between
them and the beautiful, would choose
rather to be tl^e parent of such chil-
dren than those in a human shape.
For divine honours have often been
rendered to them on account of such
children, but on account of those in
human shape, never.
" 'Your own meditation, O Socra-
tes, might perhaps have initiated you
in all these things which I have al-
ready taught you on the subject of
Love. But those perfect and sublime
ends to which these are only the
means, I know not that you would
have been competent to discover. I
will declare them, therefore, and will
render them as intelligible as possi-
ble : do you meanwhile strain all your
attention to trace the obscure depth
of the subject. He who aspires to
love rightly, ought from his earliest
youth to seek an intercourse with
beautiful forms, and first to make a
single form the object of his love, and
therein to generate intellectual excel-
lences. He ought, then, to consider
that beauty in whatever form it re-
sides is the brother of that beauty
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which subsists in another form ; and
if he ought to pursue that which is
beautiful in form, it would be absurd
to imagine that beauty is not one and
the same thing in all forms, and would
therefore remit much of his ardent
preference towards one, through his
perception of the multitude of claims
upon his love. In addition, he would
consider the beauty which is in souls
more excellent than that which is in
form. So that one endowed with an
admirable soul, even though the flower
of the form were withered, would suf-
fice him as the object of his love and
care, and the companion with whom
he might seek and produce such con-
clusions as tend to the improvement
of youth ; so that it might be led to
observe the beauty and the conform-
ity which there is in the observation
of its duties and the laws, and to es-
teem little the mere beauty of the out-
ward form. He would then conduct
his pupil to science, so that he might
look upon the loveliness of wisdom;
and that contemplating thus the uni-
versal beauty, no longer would he un-
worthily and meanly enslave himself
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to the attractions of one form in love,
nor one subject of discipline or sci-
ence, but would turn towards the wide
ocean of intellectual beauty, and from
the sight of the lovely and majestic
forms which it contains, would abund-
antly bring forth his conceptions in
philosophy; until, strengthened and
confirmed, he should at length stead-
ily contemplate one science, which is
the science of this universal beauty.
" ( Attempt, I entreat you, to mark
what I say with as keen an observa-
tion as you can. He who has been
disciplined to this point in Love, by
contemplating beautiful objects grad-
ually, and in their order, now arriving
at the end of all that concerns Love,
on a sudden beholds a beauty wonder-
ful in its nature. This is it, O Socra-
tes, for the sake of which all the former
labours were endured. It is eternal,
unproduced, indestructible ; neither
subject to increase nor decay: not,
like other things, partly beautiful and
partly deformed ; not at one time beau-
tiful and at another time not ; not beau-
tiful in relation to one thing and de-
formed in relation to another; not
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here beautiful and there deformed;
not beautiful in the estimation of one
person and deformed in that of an-
other ; nor can this supreme beauty
be figured to the imagination like a
beautiful face, or beautiful hands, or
any portion of the body, nor like any
discourse, nor any science. Nor does
it subsist in any other that lives or is,
either in earth, or in heaven, or in any
other place; but it is eternally uniform
and consistent, and monoeidic with
itself. All other things are beautiful
through a participation of it, with this
condition, that although they are sub-
ject to production and decay, it never
becomes more or less, or endures any
change. When any one, ascending
from a correct system of Love, begins
to contemplate this supreme beauty,
he already touches the consummation
of his labour. For such as discipline
themselves upon this system, or are
conducted by another beginning to
ascend through these transitory ob-
jects which are beautiful, towards that
which is beauty itself, proceeding as
on steps from the love of one form to
that of two, and from that of two, to
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that of all forms which are beautiful ;
and from beautiful forms to beautiful
habits and institutions, and from in-
stitutions to beautiful doctrines ; un-
til, from the meditation of many doc-
trines, they arrive at that which is
nothing else than the doctrine of the
supreme beauty itself, in the knowl-
edge and contemplation of which at
length they repose.
" ' Such a life as this, my dear Soc-
rates,' exclaimed the stranger Pro-
phetess, ' spent in the contemplation
of the beautiful, is the life for men to
live ; which if you chance ever to ex-
perience, you will esteem far beyond
gold and rich garments, and even
those lovely persons whom you and
many others now gaze on with aston-
ishment, and are prepared neither to
eat nor drink so that you may behold
and live for ever with these objects of
your love ! What then shall we imag-
ine to be the aspect of the supreme
beauty itself, simple, pure, uncontami-
nated with the intermixture of human
flesh and colours, and all other idle and
unreal shapes attendant on mortal-
ity ; the divine, the original, the su-
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preme, the monoeidic beautiful itself?
What must be the life of him who
dwells with and gazes on that which
it becomes us all to seek? Think
you not that to him alone is accorded
the prerogative of bringing forth, not
images and shadows of virtue, for he
is in contact not with a shadow but
with reality ; with virtue itself, in the
production and nourishment of which
he becomes dear to the Gods, and if
such a privilege is conceded to any
human being, himself immortal.'
" Such, O Phaedrus, and my other
friends, was what Diotima said. And
being persuaded by her words, I have
since occupied myself in attempting
to persuade others, that it is not easy
to find a better assistant than Love
in seeking to communicate immortal-
ity to our human natures. Wherefore
I exhort every one to honour Love ; I
hold him in honour, and chiefly exer-
cise myself in amatory matters, and
exhort others to do so ; and now and
ever do I praise the power and excel-
lence of Love, in the best manner that
I can. Let this discourse, if it pleases
you, Phaedrus, be considered as an.
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encomium of Love ; or call it by what
other name you will."
The whole assembly praised his
discourse, and Aristophanes was on
the point of making some remarks on
the allusion made by Socrates to him
in a part of his discourse, when sud-
denly they heard a loud knocking at
the door of the vestibule, and a clamor
as of revellers, attended by a flute-
player. — "Go, boys," said Agathon,
" and see who is there : if they are any
of our friends, call them in ; if not, say
that we have already done drinking."
— A minute afterwards, they heard the
voice of Alcibiades in the vestibule
excessively drunk and roaring out : —
"Where is Agathon? Lead me to
Agathon!" — The flute-player, and
some of his companions then led him
in, and placed him against the door-
post, crowned with a thick crown of
ivy and violets, and having a quantity
of fillets on his head. — "My friends,"
he cried out, "hail! I am excessively
drunk already, but I'll drink with you,
if you will. If not, we will go away
after having crowned Agathon, for
which purpose I came. I assure you
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that I could not come yesterday, but
I am now here with these fillets round
my temples, that from my own head
I may crown his who, with your leave,
is the most beautiful and wisest of
men. Are you laughing at me because
I am drunk ? Ay, I know what I say
is true, whether you laugh or not.
But tell me at once, whether I shall
come in, or no. Will you drink with
me?"
Agathon and the whole party de-
sired him to come in,and recline among
them ; so he came in, led by his com-
panions. He then unbound his fillets
that he might crown Agathon, and
though Socrates was just before his
eyes, he did not see him, but sat down
by Agathon, between Socrates and
him, for Socrates moved out of the
way to make room for him. When
he sat down, he embraced Agathon
and crowned him ; and Agathon de-
sired the slaves to untie his sandals,
that he might make a third, and re-
cline on the same couch. "By all
means," said Alcibiades, "but what
third companion have we here?"
And at the same time turning round
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and seeing Socrates, he leaped up and
cried out : — " O Hercules ! what have
we here? You, Socrates, lying in
ambush for me wherever I go ! and
meeting me just as you always do,
when I least expected to see you!
And, now, what are you come here
for ? Why have you chosen to recline
exactly in this place, and not near
Aristophanes, or any one else who is,
or wishes to be ridiculous, but have
contrived to take your place beside
the most delightful person of the
whole party?"— " Agathon," said Soc-
rates, "see if you cannot defend me.
I declare my friendship for this man
is a bad business : from the moment
that I first began to know him I have
never been permitted to converse
with, or so much as to look upon any
one else. If I do, he is so jealous and
suspicious that he does the most ex-
travagent things, and hardly refrains
from beating me. I entreat you to
prevent him from doing anything of
that kind at present. Procure a re-
conciliation: or, if he perseveres in
attempting any violence, I entreat
you to defend me."— "Indeed," said
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Alcibiades, "I will not be reconciled
to you ; I shall find another opportun-
ity to punish you for this. But now,"
said he, addressing Agathon, "lend
me some of those fillets, that I may
crown the wonderful head of this fel-
low, lest I incur the blame, that hav-
ing crowned you, I neglected to crown
him who conquers all men with his
discourses, not yesterday alone as
you did, but ever."
Saying this he took the fillets, and
having bound the head of Socrates,
and again having reclined, said:
"Come, my friends, you seem to be
sober enough. You must not flinch,
but drink, for that was your agree-
ment with me before I came in. I
choose as president, until you have
drunk enough — myself. Come, Aga-
thon, if you have got a great goblet,
fetch it out. But no matter, that wine-
cooler will do; bring it, boy!" And
observing that it held more than
eight cups, he first drank it off, and
then ordered it to be filled for Socra-
tes, and said : — "Observe, my friends,
I cannot invent any scheme against
Socrates, for he will drink as much as
no
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any one desires him, and not be in
the least drunk." Socrates, after the
boy had filled up, drank it off; and
Eryximachus said: — "Shall we then
have no conversation or singing over
pur cups, but drink down stupidly,
just as if we were thirsty?" And
Alcibiades said : " Ah, Eryximachus,
I did not see you before; hail, you
excellent son of a wise and excellent
father!"— "Hail to you also," replied
Eryximachus, " but what shall we do?"
— "Whatever you command, for we
ought to submit to your directions ; a
physician is worth a hundred common
men. Command us as you please."
— "Listen then," said Eryximachus,
"before you came in, each of us had
agreed to deliver as eloquent a dis-
course as he could in praise of Love,
beginning at the right hand ; all the
rest of us have fulfilled our engage-
ment ; you have not spoken, and yet
have drunk with us : you ought to
bear your part in the discussion ; and
having done so, command what you
please to Socrates, who shall have
the privilege of doing so to his right-
hand neighbour, and so on to the oth-
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ers." — "Indeed, there appears some
justice in your proposal, Eryximachus,
though it is rather unfair to induce a
drunken man to set his discourse in
competition with that of those who are
sober. And, besides, did Socrates
really persuade you that what he just
said about me was true, or do you not
know that matters are in fact exactly
the reverse of his representation?
For I seriously believe that, should I
praise in his presence, be he god or
man, any other beside himself, he
would not keep his hands off me.
But I assure you, Socrates, I will
praise no one beside yourself in your
presence."
"Do so, then," said Eryximachus,
"praise Socrates if you please." —
"What," said Alcibiades, "shall I at-
tack him, and punish him before you
all?" — "What have you got into your
head now," said Socrates, "are you
going to expose me to ridicule, and to
misrepresent me ? Or what are you
going to do ?" — "I will only speak the
truth ; will you permit me on this con-
dition?"— "I not only permit, but ex-
hort you to say all the truth you
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know," replied Socrates. — "I obey
you willingly," said Alcibiades, "and
if I advance anything untrue, do you,
if you please, interrupt me, and con-
vict me of misrepresentation, for I
would never willingly speak falsely.
And bear with me if I do not relate
things in their order, but just as I re-
member them, for it is not easy for a
man in my present condition to enum-
erate systematically all your singular-
ities.
"I will begin the praise of Socrates
by comparing him to a certain statue.
Perhaps he will think that this statue
is introduced for the sake of ridicule,
but I assure you that it is necessary
for the illustration of truth. I assert,
then, that Socrates is exactly like those
Silenuses that sit in the sculptors'
shops, and which are carved holding
flutes or pipes, but which, when divid-
ed in two, are found to contain within-
side the images of the gods. I assert
that Socrates is like the satyr Mars-
yas. That your form and appearance
are like these satyrs, I think that
even you will not venture to deny;
and how like you are to them in all
"3
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other things, now hear. Are you not
scornful and petulant ? If you deny
this, I will bring witnesses. Are you
not a piper, and far more wonderful a
one than he ? For Marsyas, and who-
ever now pipes the music that he
taught, for that music which is of
heaven, and described as being taught
by Marsyas, inchants men through
the power of the mouth. For if any
musician, be he skilful or not, awak-
ens this music, it alone enables him
to retain the minds of men, and from
the divinity of its nature makes evi-
dent those who are in want of the
gods and initiation. You differ only
from Marsyas in this circumstance,
that you effect without instruments,
by mere words, all that he can do.
For when we hear Pericles, or any
other accomplished orator, deliver a
discourse, no one, as it were, cares
any thing about it. But when any
one hears you, or even your words
related by another, though ever so
rude and unskilful a speaker, be that
person a woman, man or child, we are
struck and retained, as it were, by
the discourse clinging to our mind.
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"If I was not afraid that I am a
great deal too drunk, I would confirm
to you by an oath the strange effects
which I assure you I have suffered
from his words, and suffer still; for
when I hear him speak, my heart
leaps up far more than the hearts of
those who celebrate the Corybantic
mysteries ; my tears are poured out
as he talks, a thing I have seen hap-
pen to many others beside myself. I
have heard Pericles and other excel-
lent orators, and have been pleased
with their discourses, but I suffered
nothing of this kind; nor was my
soul ever on those occasions disturbed
and filled with self-reproach, as if it
were slavishly laid prostrate. But
this Marsyas here has often affected
me in the way I describe, until the life
which I lead seemed hardly worth
living. Do not deny it, Socrates, for
I well know that if even now I chose
to listen to you, I could not resist, but
should again suffer the same effects.
For, my friends, he forces me to con-
fess that while I myself am still in
want of many things, I neglect my
own necessities, and attend to those
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of the Athenians. I stop my ears,
therefore, as from the Syrens, and
flee away as fast as possible, that I
may not sit down beside him and
grow old in listening to his talk. For
this man has reduced me to feel the
sentiment of shame, which I imagine
no one would readily believe was in
me; he alone inspires me with remorse
and awe. For I feel in his presence
my incapacity of refuting what he
says, or of refusing to do that which
he directs ; but when I depart from
him, the glory which the multitude
confers overwhelms me. I escape,
therefore, and hide myself from him,
and when I see him I am overwhelmed
with humiliation, because I have neg-
lected to do what I have confessed to
him ought to be done ; and often and
often have I wished that he were no
longer to be seen among men. But
if that were to happen, I well know
that I should suffer far greater pain ;
so that where I can turn, or what I
can do with this man, I know not.
All this have I and many others suf-
fered from the pipings of this satyr.
"And observe, how like he is to
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what I said, and what a wonderful
power he possesses. Know that there
is not one of you who is aware of the
real nature of Socrates ; but since I
have begun, I will make him plain to
you. You observe how passionately
Socrates affects the intimacy of those
who are beautiful, and how ignorant
he professes himself to be ; appear-
ances in themselves excessively Sil-
enic. This, my friends, is the external
form with which, like one of the sculp-
tured Sileni, he has clothed himself;
for if you open him, you will find within
admirable temperance and wisdom.
For he cares not for mere beauty, but
despises more than anyone can imag-
ine all external possessions, whether
it be beauty or wealth, or glory, or any
other thing for which the multitude
felicitates the possessor. He esteems
these things and us who honour them,
as nothing, and lives among men,
making all the objects of their admira-
tion the playthings of his irony. But
I know not if any one of you have ever
seen the divine images which are
within, when he has been opened and
is serious. I have seen them, and
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they are so supremely beautiful, so
golden, so divine, and wonderful, that
everything which Socrates commands
surely ought to be obeyed, even like
the voice of a God. * * *
"At one time we were fellow-sol-
diers, and had our mess together in
the camp before Potidaea. Socrates
there overcame not only me, but
every one beside, in endurance of
toils: when, as often happens in a
campaign, we were reduced to few
provisions, there were none who could
sustain hunger like Socrates; and
when we had plenty, he alone seemed
to enjoy our military fare. He never
drank much willingly, but when he
was compelled he conquered all even
in that to which he was least accus-
tomed; and what is most astonish-
ing, no person ever saw Socrates
drunk either then or at any other
time. In the depth of winter (and the
winters there are excessively rigid),
he sustained calmly incredible hard-
ships: and amongst other things,
whilst the frost was intolerably se-
vere, and no one went out of their
tents, or if they went out, wrapt them-
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selves up carefully, and put fleeces
under their feet, and bound their legs
with hairy skins, Socrates went out
only with the same cloak on that he
usually wore, and walked barefoot
upon the ice; more easily, indeed,
than those who had sandalled them-
selves so delicately : so that the sol-
diers thought that he did it to mock
their want of fortitude. It would in-
deed be worth while to commemorate
all that this brave man did and endured
in that expedition. In one instance
he was seen early in the morning,
standing in one place wrapt in medi-
tation ; and as he seemed not to be
able to unravel the subject of his
thoughts, he still continued to stand
as inquiring and discussing within
himself, and when noon came, the
soldiers observed him, and said to one
another — 'Socrates has been stand-
ing there thinking, ever since the
morning.' At last some lonians came
to the spot, and having supped, as it
was summer, bringing their blankets,
they lay down to sleep in the cool;
they observed that Socrates continued
to stand there the whole night until
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morning, and that, when the sun rose,
he saluted it with a prayer and de-
parted.
" I ought not to omit what Socrates
is in battle. For in that battle after
which the generals decreed to me the
prize of courage, Socrates alone of all
men was the saviour of my life, stand-
ing by me when I had fallen and was
wounded, and preserving both myself
and my arms from the hands of the
enemy. On that occasion I intreated
the generals to decree the prize, as it
was most due, to him. And this, O
Socrates, you cannot deny, that while
the generals wishing to conciliate a
person of my rank, desired to give me
the prize, you were far more earnestly
desirous than the generals that this
glory should be attributed not to your-
self, but me.
"But to see Socrates when our army
was defeated and scattered in flight
at Delius, was a spectacle worthy
to behold. On that occasion I was
among the cavalry, and he on foot,
heavily armed. After the total rout
of our troops, he and Laches retreated
together ; I came up by chance, and
1 20
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seeing them, bade them be of good
cheer, for that I would not leave them.
As I was on horseback, and therefore
less occupied by a regard of my own
situation, I could better observe than
at Potidaea the beautiful spectacle ex-
hibited by Socrates on this emergency.
How superior was he to Laches in
presence of mind and courage ! Your
representation of him on the stage, O
Aristophanes, was not wholly unlike
his real self on this occasion, for he
walked and darted his regards around
with a majestic composure, looking
tranquilly both on his friends and ene-
mies ; so that it was evident to every
one, even from afar, that whoever
should venture to attack him would
encounter a desperate resistance.
He and his companion thus departed
in safety; for those who are scat-
tered in flight are pursued and killed,
whilst men hesitate to touch those
who exhibit such a countenance as
that of Socrates even in defeat.
"Many other and most wonderful
qualities might well be praised in
Socrates; but such as these might
singly be attributed to others. But
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that which is unparalleled in Socra-
tes, is, that he is unlike and above com-
parison with all other men, whether
those who have lived in ancient times,
or those who exist now. For it may
be conjectured, that Brasidas and
many others are such as was Achil-
les. Pericles deserves comparison
with Nestor and Antenor ; and other
excellent persons of various times
may, with probability, be drawn into
comparison with each other. But to
such a singular man as this, both
himself and his discourses are so un-
common, no one, should he seek,
would find a parallel among the pres-
ent or the past generation of man-
kind ; unless they should say that he
resembled those with whom I lately
compared him, for, assuredly, he and
his discourses are like nothing but
the Sileni, and the Satyrs. At first I
forgot to make you observe how like
his discourses are to those Satyrs
when they are opened, for, if any one
will listen to the talk of Socrates, it
will appear to him at first extremely
ridiculous ; the phrases and express-
ions which he employs, fold around
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his exterior the skin, as it were, of a
rude and wanton Satyr. He is always
talking about great market-asses,
and brass-founders, and leather-cut-
ters, and skin-dressers; and this is
his perpetual custom, so that any dull
and unobservant person might easily
laugh at his discourse. But if any one
should see it opened, as it were, and
get within the sense of his words, he
would then find that they alone of all
that enters into the mind of man to
utter, had a profound and persuasive
meaning, and that they were most
divine; and that they presented to
the mind innumerable images of every
excellence, and that they tended to-
wards objects of the highest moment,
or rather towards all that he who
seeks the possession of what is su-
premely beautiful and good need re-
gard as essential to the accomplish-
ment of his ambition.
"These are the things, my friends,
for which I praise Socrates." * * *
Alcibiades having said this, the
whole party burst into a laugh at his
frankness, and Socrates said, "You
seem to be sober enough, Alcibiades,
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else you would not have made such a
circuit of words, only to hide the main
design for which you made this long
speech, and which, as it were care-
lessly, you just throw in at the last ;
now, as if you had not said all this for
the mere purpose of dividing me and
Agathon ? You think that I ought to
be your friend, and to care for no one
else. I have found you out ; it is evi-
dent enough for what design you in-
vented all this Satyrical and Silenic
drama. But, my dear Agathon, do
not let his device succeed. I intreat
you to permit no one to throw discord
between us." — "No doubt," said Aga-
thon, " he sate down between us only
that he might divide us ; but this shall
not assist his scheme, for I will come
and sit near you." — "Dp so," said
Socrates, "come, there is room for
you by me." — "Oh, Jupiter!" ex-
claimed Alcibiades, "what I endure
from that man ! He thinks to subdue
every way ; but, at least, I pray you,
let Agathon remain between us." —
"Impossible," said Socrates, "you
have just praised me; I ought to
praise him sitting at my right hand.
124
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If Agathon is placed beside you, will
he not praise me before I praise him ?
Now, my dear friend, allow the young
man to receive what praise I can
give him. I have a great desire to
pronounce his encomium." — "Quick,
quick, Alcibiades," said Agathon, "I
cannot stay here, I must change my
place, or Socrates will not praise me."
— Agathon then arose to take his
place near Socrates.
He had no sooner reclined than
there came in a number of revellers —
for some one who had gone out had
left the door open — and took their
places on the vacant couches, and
everything became full of confusion ;
and no order being observed, every
one was obliged to drink a great
quantity of wine. Eryximachus, and
Phaedrus, and some others, said Aris-
todemus, went home to bed ; that, for
his part, he went to sleep on his
couch, and slept long and soundly
— the nights were then long — until
the cock crew in the morning. When
he awoke he found that some were
still fast asleep, and others had gone
home, and that Aristophanes, Aga-
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thon, and Socrates had alone stood
it out, and were still drinking out of
a great goblet which they passed
round and round. Socrates was dis-
puting between them. The begin-
ning of their discussion Aristodemus
said that he did not recollect, because
he was asleep ; but it was terminated
by Socrates forcing them to confess,
that the same person is able to con-
pose both tragedy and comedy, and
that the foundations of the tragic and
comic arts were essentially the same.
They, rather convicted than con-
vinced, went to sleep. Aristophanes
first awoke, and then, it being broad
daylight, Agathon. Socrates, having
put them to sleep, went away, Aris-
todemus following him, and coming
to the Lyceum he washed himself, as
he would have done anywhere else,
and after having spent the day there
in his accustomed manner, went home
in the evening.
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